THE    BACHELORS, 

AND  OTHER  TALES, 


FOUNDED  ON 


AMERICAN  INCIDENTS  AND  CHARACTER, 


BY   SAMUEL    L.    KNAPP. 


"  There's  some  peculiar  in  each  leaf  and  grain- 
Some  unmark'd  fibre,  or  some  varying  vein. 
Shall  only  man  be  taken  in  the  gross? 
Grant  but  as  many  sorts  of  mind  as  moss. 
That  each  from  others  differs,  first  confess  ; 
Next,  that  he  varies  from  himself  no  less  : 
Add  nature's,  custom's,  reason's,  passion's  strife, 
And  all  opinion's  colours  cast  on  life." 

How  ?  turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot?  ' 

^Esop — and  Phaedrus — and  the  rest  1    Why  not  ? — Goicper. 


NEW- YORK : 

PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  J.  AND  W.  SANDFORD, 
29  ANN-STREET. 

MDCCCXXXVI, 


'.'«*  *  X  * 


ISnterrtr, 

ACCORDING  TO  ACT  OF  CONGRESS,  IN  THE  YEAR  1836,  BY 

SAMUEL  L.  KNAPP, 

IN  THE  CLKRK'S  OFFICE  OF  THE  DISTRICT  COURT  OF  THE  SOUTHERN  DISTRICT  oy 

NEW-YORK. 


TO 


GEORGE  C.  SHATl|CK,  M.D., 

^ 

PRESIDENT  OF   THE   MASSACHUSETTS   MEDICAL   SOCIETY. 


DEAR  SIR — 

/  have  taken  the  liberty  to  dedi 
cate  this  small  volume  to  you,  as  a  slight  token 
of  my  grateful  recollections  of  the  many  in 
stances  of  friendship  and  professional  skill  I 
have  to  acknowledge  as  flowing  from  your 
kindness ;  and  in  addition  to  these,  I  am  in 
debted  to  you  for  many  deep  and  clear  read 
ings  of  the  motives  and  actions  of  men,  com 
municated  in  the  course  uf  our  acquaintance. 

These  Tales  are  founded  on  incidents 
gathered  in  the  common  pathway  of  life,  and 
intended  to  exhibit  some  of  the  lights  and 
shades  as  we  see  them  daily. 


DEDICATION. 


The  profession  you  have  chosen,  and  so 
honorably  pursued  to  distinction,  has  been  fa 
vorable  for  the  study  of  human  nature  ;  but  it 
seldom  happens,  in  this  busy  age,  among  this 
mercurial  people,  that  one  who  has  happily 
caught  the  lineaments  of  the  physiognomy  of 
the  minds  about'him,  can  command  the  requi 
site  time  to  porjqay  them.  I  ask  you  to  cast 
your  eyes  upon  these  sketches,  in  some  breath 
ing  interval  between  professional  labors — -for 
leisure  you  have  none — and  see  if  they  have  in 
them  any  features  of  nature,  or  faithfulness 
to  the  relations  of  society. 

With  ardent  wishes  for  your  health  and  happi 
ness,  I  am 

Your  Obliged  Friend,  and  Hum.  Ser., 

SAMUEL  L.  KNAPP. 


PREFACE. 


WHEN  the  far-famed  Talleyrand,  now  Prince  Bene- 
vento,  was  travelling  in  the  United  States  during1  the 
French  Revolution,  his  conversation  was  considered  a 
philosophical  treat  by  the  wise  men  of  our  nation.  On 
the  affairs  of  his  own  country,  he  conversed  like  a  seer 
who  looked  far  a-head  ;  but  his  remarks  often  excited 
a  smile,  when  discussing  the  prospects  and  character 
of  America.  "  The  United  States,"  said  he,  "  can 
never  be  a  naval  power ;  ibr  there  is  not  oak  timber 
enough  in  the  country  to  make  two  ships  of  the  line." 
Another  of  his  profound  remarks  was — "  You  can 
never  be  instructed  by  poetry  or  fiction  of  your  own ; 
for  by  your  laws  all  men  are  put  upon  an  equality,  and 
to  form  differences  of  character,  there  must  be  many 
acknowledged  grades  in  society."  Timber  has,  how 
ever,  been  found  sufficient  for  a  more  extended  pur 
pose  ;  and  poetry  and  fiction  have  commenced  a  course 
that  has  proved  the  futility  of  the  wise  man's  remarks. 
He  thought  we  had  no  romance  in  our  history  :  he  had 
never  read  Hubbard's  or  Penhollow's  Indian  Wars. 
I  have  stated  this,  to  show  that  no  man  can  judge  of 


VI  PREFACE. 

the  character  of  a  people,  without  being  well  acquainted 
with  their  history,  however  shrewd  he  might  be  on 

neral  subjects.  The  foreigner  says  that  there  can 
e  but  little  difference  in  persons  similarly  situated — 
that  for  strong  features  of  character,  you  must  go  to 
nations  who  have  hereditary  distinctions — nations  agi 
tated  by  avarice,  ambition,  and  thirst  of  blood — rising, 
and  falling,  or  dashing  against  each  other  with  every 
wave  of  fortune.  It  must  be  confessed,  that  in  such  a 
people  you  can  find  more  readily  incidents  to  illustrate 
the  character  you  attempt  to  exhibit,  than  in  a  quiet 
community.  It  is  not  in  the  difference  of  pursuits,  but 
in  the  elements  of  character,  that  contrasts  and  pecu 
liarities  are  seen.  The  Apostles,  who  followed  one 
Master  in  the  same  great  cause,  exhibited  the  greatest 
variety  of  disposition  and  temper. 

It  may  seem  tame  to  those  heated  by  fictions  of 
other  lands,  in  which  the  worst  of  crimes  are  set  in  the 
strongest  lights — where  murders  by  dagger  and  bowl 
are  found  in  every  legend — to  trace  the  lines  of  nature 
and  truth  among  a  moral,  quiet,  and  industrious  people ; 
but  he  who  examines  human  nature  closely,  will  find 
that  there  is  a  greater  variety  in  the  latter  than  in  the 
former  state  of  society.  Courtiers  are  all  of  one  class ; 
the  avaricious  and  ambitious  are  governed  by  a  few 
strong  impulses  ;  and  all  know,  that  whatever  may  be 
the  component  parts  of  a  mob,  its  spirit  is  violent  and 
vindictive  ;  but  when  every  one  is  under  the  guidance 
of  his  own  reason,  infinite  varieties  of  thought  and 
action  shoot  out  for  examination. 

A  healthy  appetite  in  literary  matters  is  taking  place 
of  a  literary  dispepsia,  which  has  deranged  us  for  a  long 
time.  Such  novels  as  Lewis's  Monk  now  give  place 
to  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  the  day  of  simplicity  is 
dawning.  I  could  have  found  subjects  of  greater  inte 
rest  in  the  history  of  my  country  ;  but  I  have  left  those 
for  others  to  expatiate  upon,  and  seized  these  found  in 
the  common  pathway  of  life. 


PREFACE.  Vll 

Our  primitive  fathers  are  subjects  not  yet  exhausted, 
or  in  i'act  hardly  touched  upon.  The  red  men,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  have  taken  precedence  of  them :  but 
no  matter  ;  the  habits — the  feelings — the  moral  and 
religious  character  of  our  forefathers  will,  in  the  end, 
yield  to  no  other  topic. 

If  we  look  carefully  into  what  is  called  a  heroic  age, 
we  shall  find  that  the  deeds  of  the  sword  are  transient, 
unless  embalmed  by  the  pen.  The  record  that  'a  light 
was  kindled,  lives  longer  than  the  light  itself.  No  one 
man  can  do  much  for  a  nation's  fame  ;  that  must  be 
built  up  as  the  monument  to  Kosciusko's  memory  in 
Poland,  where,  to  accomplish  the  great  object  of  crea 
ting  a  pyramid,  every  citizen  threw  a  stone  on  the  pile. 
He  who  describes  his  own  country  must  depend  on  his 
own  countrymen  for  a  favorable  reception  of  his  works, 
for  foreigners  in  general  cannot  fairly  judge  of  their 
merits.  If  we  have  the  same  language  as  is  spoken  in 
England,  our  manners  and  habits  are  essentially  our 
own,  and  have  grown  out  of  the  peculiarities  of  our 
situation.  Englishmen  have  written  clear  histories  of 
us,  but  they  cannot  seize  the  traits  of  individual  char 
acter.  We  see  imitations  of  Buckskin  and  Yankee 
characters,  and  your  Nimrod  Wildfires  of  the  West : 
but  a  shrewd  observer  will  at  once  see  that  they  are  not 
true  to  nature,  but  caricatures  of  those  they  intend  to 
represent.  If  these  imitations  were  closely  examined, 
the  ignorance  of  the  writers  would  be  as  easily  detected 
as  thi.it  of  an  English  sailor  impressed  to  serve  in  the 
West  India  squadron,  who  insisted  that  he  was  an  Ame 
rican  born  citizen,  and  fixed  the  place  of  his  birth  at  Mar 
ble-head — a  town  famed  for  being  the  cradle  of  ocean- 
heroes.  He  was  thought  to  be  an  American  citizen 
by  his  examiners,  until  Admiral  Sir  Isaac  Coffin  called 
him  up.  "  Well,  my  lad,  if  you  were  born  in  Marble- 
head,"  said  he,  "  you  can  tell  me  of  what  materials  the 
steps  of  the  bishop's  palace  are  composed."  "  Why, 
of  marble,"  was  the  reply ! 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
THE  BACHELORS        .  .  :.  .          9 

INTEMPERATE         .                     £T^    I'-l  •/.'-  31 

INFIDEL    RECLAIMED            .             .             .  .87 

CORRUPTED               .....  Ill 

ORPHAN    .            .        :     •             •             •  •     127 

SOLDIER-SCHOOLMASTER        V            .          ,.  147 

SPECTRE    BEAUTY       .....     165 

HERMIT         ......  181 

PHILANTHROPIST    AND    MISER  .  .    201 


THE    BACHELORS. 


"One  impulse  of  a  vernal  wood 

May  teach  you  more  of  man — 
Of  moral  evil,  and  of  good — 
Than  all  the  sages  can." 


THE  knowledge  of  human  nature  cannot  be  acquired 
by  simply  surveying  the  mass  of  mankind.  We  must  study 
the  characters  of  individuals,  and  draw  our  general  inferences 
from  a  careful  examination  of  the  whole  details.  By  such 
a  process  we  shall  find  that  the  laws  of  nature  and  the 
commands  of  heaven  are  in  harmony,  and  cannot  be  opposed 
with  impunity.  The  heart  that  is  cased  in  flint  to  the 
common  observer,  often  beats  with  an  irregular  motion, 
and  has  its  aches,  that  are  ill-concealed  under  the  mask  of 
indifference. 

JOHN  THOMPSON,  HENRY  GILBERT,  and  MONTJOY  TILE- 
STON  RUSSELL,  were  nearly  of  the  same  age — born  in  the 
same  city — educated  in  the  elementary  branches  of  know 
ledge  in  the  same  school — and  graduated  from  college  in 
the  same  class.  They  were  bright  boys — emulous  of  dis 
tinction — and  held,  if  not  an  equal  rank  with  each  other, 
surely  a  high  one  in  their  class.  In  the  course  of  obtaining 
their  education,  they  were  constantly  associated  together, 
and  a  strong  friendship  grew  up  between  them,  which  they 
fondly  believed  that  nothing  but  death  could  destroy.  They 
agreed  to  settle  in  their  native  city.  Thompson  studied  the 
law — Gilbert,  physic — and  Russell  entered  the  counting. 


10  THE    BACHELORS. 

room  of  his  father,  and  prepared  himself  to  become  a  mer- 
qhant — .one  acquainted  with  the  history  and  geography  of 
nations,, '  with  ;thp  nature  and  amount  of  their  products  and 
commerce.  .  After  a  few  years,  he  became  a  partner  in  the 
•'house  -of  which  'his  father  was  the  head,  and  was  considered 
as  an  active,  intelligent  young  merchant.  The  lawyer  and 
doctor  began  business  under  good  auspices,  particularly  the 
former.  He  was  well  read,  sagacious,  and  full  of  confidence. 
He  studied  his  causes  well,  and  was  in  general  very  success 
ful — for  he  would  not  condescend  to  be  a  tool  against  his 
judgment  for  any  one.  The  doctor  was  learned  in  his  pro 
fession,  and  refined  in  his  manners.  He  would  not  use  a 
harsh  word  to  the  humblest  patient,  nor  flatter  the  most 
exalted.  If  he  did  not  advance  so  rapidly  as  many  dashing 
young  men  have  done,  still  it  may  be  said,  that  what  he 
gained,  he  never  lost.  His  delicacy  was  only  surpassed  by 
his  firmness — and  that  never  had  a  particle  of  asperity  in  it. 
These  young  gentlemen  had  made  it  a  rule  with  themselves 
to  meet  once  a  week,  to  enjoy  a  banquet  of  conversation ; 
and  to  which  feast,  like  Scarron's,  each  guest  brought  his  own 
dish.  This  habit  was  kept  up  for  several  years  with  great 
constancy,  and  to  their  mutual  advantage.  Sometimes  a 
few  friends  were  admitted  to  join  this  trio— -and  this  was 
considered  a  great  favor. 

At  a  time  between  the  embargo  of  1807  and  the  war  of 
1812,  the  prices  of  merchandize  underwent  many  fluctu 
ations,  in  the  successive  shocks  given  to  commerce  by  the 
numerous  acts  of  national  legislation.  At  a  time  when  new 
changes  were  anticipated,  the  young  merchant  was  not  at 
his  weekly  supper  as  usual.  The  other  two  went  out  to 
find  him.  He  was  still  at  his  desk,  but  engaged  to  be  with 
them  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two.  When  he  arrived 
he  told  them  that  he  anticipated  that  great  changes  were 


THE    BACHELORS.  11 

about  to  take  place  in  the  prices-current,  and  that  he  had 
prevailed  upon  a  young  man  who  had  just  come  into  pos 
session  of  a  great  estate,  to  venture  an  hundred  thousand 
dollars  to  be  used  by  him  at  half  profits.  He  dwelt  so  long 
on  the  subject,  and  gave  such  satisfactory  reasons  for  his 
belief  of  great  gains,  that  his  friends  were  convinced  that  he 
had  a  splendid  prospect  before  him  ;  and  after  some  further 
preliminary  remarks,  the  professional  gentlemen  prepared 
to  put  something  into  the  speculation.  This,  Russell  agreed 
to  take,  upon  conditions  that  they  should  receive  all  the 
profits — saying,  that  if  he  was  successful,  he  should  make 
enough  out  of  what  he  now,  had  of  his  own  and  of  others, 
and  that  he  would  not  trade  for  his  own  benefit  on  the  money 
of  his  friends.  The  lawyer  and  doctor,  by  pledging  their 
bank  stock  and  mortgaging  some  paternal  real  estate,  raised 
fifteen  thousand  dollars  each.  This  was  done  forthwith, 
and  the  money  was  put  into  the  hands  of  their  friend  the 
merchant.  Some  weeks  elapsed  before  the  waters  began  to 
move.  The  first  purchase  made  by  Russell  was  of  all  the 
spices,  drugs,  and  coffee  he  could  find  at  fair  prices.  The 
next,  was  to  enter  into  contracts,  which  were  made  binding, 
for  an  immense  quantity  of  distilled  spirits,  at  numerous  dis 
tilleries.  This  being  done,  he  repaired  to  the  city  of  New 
York,  to  watch  the  operation  of  the  great  speculators  in 
Wall  street.  This  was  managed  so  adroitly,  that  his  views 
were  not  suspected  until  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
signs  of  the  flood  from  the  first  rise  until  it  would  return  to 
its  neap.  He  then  left  that  city  for  his  own.  All  his  trans- 
actions  were  carried  on  without  bustle,  and  succeeded  to  his 
wishes. 

At  a  supper  on  one  of  their  usual  nights  of  meeting,  Ras- 
sell  assured  his  friends  that  each  of  them  were  now  worth 
an  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  addition  to  their  former 


12  THE    BACHELORS. 

fortunes ;  and  that  he  had  been  equally  successful  himself, 
but  that  he  should  now  discontinue  his  exertions — believing 
that  speculation  had  reached  its  height.  The  professional 
men  were  delighted  with  the  news,  and  earnestly  desired 
their  mercantile  friend  to  cease  his  operations ; — they  did 
not  wish  for  more.  Elated  with  success,  they  pushed  round 
the  bottle,  until  they  were  all  a  little  flushed  with  wine  and 
the  thoughts  of  their  prosperity.  At  this  crisis,  one  of  them 
proposed  that  they  should  adopt  a  plan  of  life  that  would 
insure  them  the  title  of  «  THE  IMMORTAL  THREE."  «  Name 
it ! — name  it  !"  were  heard  from  the  other  two.  "  Then," 
said  he,  "  let  us  make  up  our  minds  to  live  bachelors  until 
we  go  to  our  graves."  "  Agreed  ! — agreed  !"  was  the 
response — and,  before  the  clock  struck  twelve  that  night, 
they  had  signed  a  paper,  (of  which  each  took  a  copy,)  that 
he  should  forfeit  the  pledge  of  honor  which  held  them 
together,  whoever  might  enter  the  bonds  of  matrimony,  or 
suffer  any  woman  to  call  him  liusland.  They  then  talked 
over  the  course  of  life  they  intended  to  pursue.  "  I,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "  will  forthwith  close  my  professional  business,. 
or,  at  least,  as  soon  as  possible — buy  me  a  farm,  and  be 
come  an  agriculturist,  a  horticulturist — and  my  chief  delight 
shall  be  in  a  garden.  In  viewing  nature  and  her  delightful 
products  I  will  spend  my  days ;  and  repose,  when  I  choose, 
on  a  bed  of  flowers." — "I,"  said  the  doctor,  "will  never 
again  administer  a  tincture,  or  a  pill,  or  grasp  the  ampu 
tating  knife.  I  will  retire  from  corporal  and  mental  mise 
ries,  and  confine  myself  to  philosophical  research.  The 
microscope,  the  developements  of  chemistry,  and  the  pure 
mathematics,  shall  delight  me  by  day,  and  the  still  greater 
wonders  of  the  telescope  by  ni'ght." — The  merchant  pondered 
for  awhile,  but  at  last  shaped  his  course.  "  My  fame  shall 
be  that  of  a  traveller,"  said  he  j  "  I  will  emulate  Mandeville, 


THE    BACHELORS.  13 

surpass  Bruce,  and  rival  Ledyard.  I  will  hunt  the  chamois 
on  the  Alps — shoot  the  condor  on  the  Andes — and  drink  at 
the  sources  of  the  Mississippi  and  the  Nile.  I  will  engrave 
my  name  on  the  top  of  the  highest  Pyramid — and  bring  up 
a  gem  from  the  deepest  cavern  in  the  mines  of  Golconda." 

The  genius  of  revelry  was  the  ascendant  of  this  midnight 
hour ;  and  when  the  morning  sun  arose,  each  was  ready  to 
shed  tears  at  his  rash  pledge — but  neither  would  be  foremost 
in  acknowledging  his  folly  and  recanting  his  error.  The 
lawyer  was  the  first  to  set  about  performing  his  part.  He 
bought  a  large,  fine  farm,  well  wooded  and  watered,  of  an 
excellent  soil — and  commenced  his  labors.  He  laid  out  his 
grounds  on  the  most  approved  methods — and,  by  dams, 
sluices,  &c.  prepared  to  irrigate  a  greater  portion  of  his 
fields.  He  collected  a  rare  stock  of  cattle,  and  kept  them 
under  the  full  force  of  feed.  His  farm  soon  became  a  pat 
tern  one — and  all  in  the  neighborhood  were  his  imitators, 
as  far  as  they  could  be.  His  poultry-yard  swarmed  with 
every  species  of  domestic  fowl  that  ever  made  a  supper  for 
Lucullus,  or  was  ever  eaten  with  curry  at  the  feast  of  an 
Asiatic  satrap.  Every  day  in  the  year  he  could  command 
from  his  own  premises  all  the  luxuries  of  life — in  which  he 
took  more  pleasure  in  seeing  than  in  devouring.  He  sup 
plied  the  sick  with  an  hundred  little  dainties  from  his  field 
or  larder,  and  his  wine  was  a  cordial  ready  to  flow  when 
the  village  physician  prescribed  it  for  any  of  his  poor  pa 
tients.  His  fields  were  the  object  of  admiration — but  it  was 
on  his  garden  that  he  spent  the  most  of  his  time,  and  where 
he  exercised  his  highest  faculties.  The  copious  stream 
which  ran  through  his  grounds  was  made  to  pass  in  three 
channels — being  separated  before  they  entered  the  walls  of 
the  garden.  Trees  were  planted  on  the  banks  of  each  cur 
rent,  excepting  in  the  proper  places  for  bridges  and  openings. 

A2 


14  THE    BACHELORS, 

The  grounds  were   wavy  by  nature,   which  offered  greaf 
capacities  for  picturesque  landscapes.     The  fruit-trees  were 
numerous  of  every  kind  that  the  climate  would  bear.     His 
green,  house  and  conservatory  were  large,  and  filled  with 
plants  and  flowers  from  every  clime.     In  a  beautiful  clump 
of  trees  he  erected  a  temple  for  a  study,  and  there  read  the 
classics  and  all  the  modern  works  of  taste  and  talent.     It 
was  indeed  a  treat  to  be  invited  to  spend  a  few  days  at  his 
hospitable  mansion.     His  library  was  extensive,   and  con 
tained  many  curious  works  on   all  subjects,  and  which  far 
exceeded  any  other  private  library  in  the  country,  in  works 
on  agriculture,  gardening,  and  on  all  these  kindred  subjects. 
He  had  classed  them  and  arranged  them  himself,  and  made 
an  index  to  these  works  with  his  own  hand — which  gave 
great  facilities  in  readily  finding  whatever  was  wanted  by 
the  cultivator.     In  his  winter's  leisure  he  amused  himself 
in  collecting  facts  to  show  the  progress  of  agriculture  in 
every  part  of  the  globe,  in  every  age  of  the  history  of  man, 
and  which  went  far  to  prove  that  the  food  for  the  population 
of  the  world  grew  more  abundant  as  the  human  race  increased. 
The  easterly  side  of  his  farm  was  bounded  on  a  lake  of  large 
dimensions,  filled  with  a  great  variety  of  excellent  fish.    His 
friends  always  found  the  finest  table  at  his  house  that  the 
country  could  afford.     Here  was  happiness  one  would  think 
sufficient  for  any  mortal. 

Gilbert  purchased  himself  a  farm  on  a  small  scale — just 
large  enough  to  raise  a  subsistence  for  himself  and  house 
hold.  He  erected  an  observatory,  furnished  himself  with 
costly  astronomical  intruments,  and  in  the  lower  part  of 
his  tower  he  provided  rooms  for  philosophical  experiments, 
and  spent  more  hours  in  his  laboratory  than  in  his  observa 
tory.  He  turned  from  experiments  to  abstract  sciences  ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  he  kept  a  meteorological  table,  and 


THE    BACHELORS.  15 

measured  the  fall  of  rain  and  snow  with  accuracy  ;  and 
once  a  quarter  gave  a  paper  to  the  Philosophical  Society, 
on  some  scientific  subject — being  the  result  of  ingenious 
experiments  and  sound  reflections. 

He  made  a  curious  almanack  each  year,  and  .presented  it 
to  a  shoemaker  in  the  neighborhood  who  had  to  support 
fifteen  children.  This  son  of  Crispin  rode  into  fame  by 
his  learned  neighbor's  science,  and  had  numerous  letters 
addressed  to  him  from  distant  places — all  of  which  Gilbert 
regularly  answered,  until  Melchisedek  Buswell  became 
renowned  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  as  one  of  the  first 
mathematicians  and  astronomers  of  the  day — when,  perhaps, 
the  utmost  extent  of  Buswell's  knowledge  was  no  more  than 
to  work  out  that  tremendous  question,  "  How  many  barley 
corns  does  it  take  to  reach  round  the  world  ?" 

He  often  visited  his  friend  Thompson,  and  heard  him  talk 
of  grain,  cattle,  trees,  shrubs,  and  flowers,  and  probably 
partook,  in  some  slight  degree,  of  his  friend's  delight — but, 
after  all,  could  not  help  thinking  how  undignified  was  Thomp 
son's  pursuits  compared  with  his  own.  What  pleasure  could 
a  wheat-field  give,  compared  with  some  new  discovery  in 
the  heavens  1 

The  two  friends  often  heard  from  Montjoy,  who  was  care 
ful  to  send  them  every  rare  book  on  mathematics,  astronomy, 
agriculture,  or  botany  ;  and  also,  every  rare  plant  and  every 
new  mathematical  instrument.  They  were  in  the  habit  of 
corresponding  most  frequently  with  each  other,  which  made 
no  small  item  in  their  duties  and  their  happiness. 

Gilbert  offered  to  instruct  young  men  who  were  going 
to  sea,  in  the  lunar  and  sideral  calculations,  without  fee  or 
reward — only  stipulating,  that  when  they  became  master- 
mariners,  they  should  pay  to  the  Female  Orphan  Asylum  the 
usual  fee  for  a  common  course  of  instruction  in  navigation. 


16  THE    BACHELORS. 

This  was  readily  complied  with.  If  he  was  not  happy  to 
the  extent  of  the  measure  of  the  lot  of  some  moitals,  he  was 
free  from  anxiety  and  ambition.  Now-and-then  a  writer 
would  attack  some  of  his  favorite  theories  ;  and  this  would 
give  him  some  pain,  notwithstanding  all  that  he  wrote  was 
under  feigned  names.  At  times  he  grew  weary  of  his  pur- 
suits,  and  would  turn  to  works  of  taste  for  relief.  These 
would  engage  him  for  a  few  days  only  ;  and  even  during 
that  time  he  would  forget  the  beauty  of  a  figure  of  rhetoric, 
to  pursue  some  problem  which  had  started  up  in  his  mind 
as  he  was  dwelling  on  Shakspeare  or  Milton.  He  contrived 
to  keep  up  with  the  news  of  the  day,  but  took  no  part  in 
politics — for  he  found  that  political  excitement  was  the  bane 
of  science  and  an  enemy  to  letters.  He  had  his  politica  1 
views,  and  gave  his  vote,  but  never  attempted  to  influence 
the  minds  of  others,  or  to  seek  for  public  honors  for  himself. 
He  associated  with  but  few,  and  was  familiar  with  no  one 
but  his  friend  Thompson — yet  he  was  kind  to  all.  The 
professional  men  of  the  village  usually  dined  with  him  once 
a  week.  He  paid  his  physician  as  the  Chinese  do,  by  the 
year — deducting  all  the  term  of  his  sickness,  if  he  should 
chance  to  be  unwell.  With  but  few  singularities,  he  moved 
onward  with  the  current  of  time — devoting  six  hours  each 
day  to  his  mathematical  and  astronomical  studies.  The 
good  people  considered  him  as  rather  belonging  to  the  stars 
than  to  earth ;  but  as  he  paid  his  taxes  cheerfully,  and 
injured  no  one,  they  thought  him  no  bad  citizen. 

Montjoy  Tileston  Russell,  after  visiting  most  of  the  great 
cities  in  Europe,  turned  his  attention  to  Asia  and  Africa. 
He  sailed  for  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  spent  some 
months  in  examining  that  country  with  more  attention  than 
any  American  traveller  had  done  before  his  time.  From 
thence,  he  made  a  voyage  to  Bengal,  and  visited  a  large 


THE  BACHELORS.  17 

portion  of  that  immense  country.  He  took  passage  in  an 
English  vessel  bound  to  Bombay.  In  this  place,  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  Recorder,  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  one 
of  the  most  accomplished  men  of  his  time  :  with  him,  he 
passed  several  hours  every  day.  He  had  bills  of  exchange 
on  John  Long,  Esq.,  a  merchant  of  extensive  business  in 
Bombay,  and  became  intimately  acquainted  with  his  family. 
Mr.  Long  was  an  Englishman,  who  had  resided  many 
years  in  Spain,  and  had  married  a  Spanish  lady  of  great 
beauty  and  talents.  They  had  been  blessed  with  several 
children :  the  sons  were  in  the  king's  service — an  only 
daughter  was  still  unmarried,  and  lived  at  home,  having 
just  left  school  in  England.  She  united  the  Spanish  dignity 
with  the  English  complexion,  and  was  in  every  respect  a 
fine  woman.  She  spoke  the  English,  Spanish,  French,  and 
Italian  languages,  with  purity  and  ease.  She  became  quite 
interested  in  the  recital  of  Russell's  travels  in  various 
parts  of  the  world,  but  could  not  help  intimating  that  such 
a  life  of  peril  could  not  be  a  happy  one  ;  and  expressed  a 
fear  for  his  safety,  when  he  told  her  that  in  a  few  weeks 
he  was  to  sail  for  Mocha,  and  from  thence  he  was  going  to 
explore  the  coast  of  the  Red  Sea,  taking  the  track  of  the 
Israelites  through  the  wilderness  to  Judea,  and  then  winter 
in  Grand  Cairo.  Finding  an  American  ship  in  the  port,  he 
collected  all  the  rare  plants  he  could  find,  and  sent  them  to 
his  friend  Thompson,  with  a  sketch  of  his  travels.  In 
making  up  his  packages  of  flowers  and  seeds,  he  was 
assisted  by  Cynthia  Long,  who  had  become  quite  enam 
ored  with  the  study  of  botany.  He  hastened  his  depart, 
ure,  for  he  felt  himself  getting  deeply  in  love  with  his  fair 
friend,  and  seemed  to  flatter  himself  thai;  there  might  be 
some  reciprocity  between  them  :  but  then,  his  pledge  of 
honor  to  live  a  bachelor  came  across  his  mind,  and  he  grew 


18  THE    BACHELORS. 

sick  at  the  thoughts  of  it,     "  What  evil  genius,"  he  would 
often  say  to  himself,  "came  over  me  at  that  fatal  hour? 
Would  to  God,  that  we  had  all  been  made  bankrupts  by 
our  speculations,  which  we  considered  so  fortunate  at  the 
time,  and  then  we  should  have  never  found  ourselves  miser 
able  by  this  foolish  pledge  !"     With  these  feelings,  he  tore 
himself  away  from  his  friends,  and  sailed  for  Mocha,  hardly 
caring  for  his  fate.      He  reached  his  port  of  destination, 
without  any  remarkable   occurrence.     From   Mocha,   he 
started  with  a  caravan  to  the  interior  of  the  country.     For  „ 
some  time,  he  went  on  as  well  as  one  could  expect  in  such 
company,  partly  uncertain  of  his  course,  and  more  uncer 
tain  of  his  treatment.     When  they  stopped,  he  was  in  mis 
ery  from  the  want  of  tents,  and  from  want  of  proper  food  ; 
and  where  to  rest  his  head,  he  did  not  often  know.     But 
this  he  could  bear,  thinking  that  at  some  time  his  journey 
would  end,  and  he  should  be  happy  in  thinking  that  he  had 
done  bravely.      At  length,  one  afternoon,  when  they  had 
encamped  near  a  spring  of  water,  and  were  enjoying  them 
selves  wiih  the  prospect  of  pursuing  their  journey  as  soon 
as  the  moon   arose — this  was   just   before  midnight — the 
camels  were  laden,  and  the  whole  ready  to  depart,  when 
some  one  of  the  horses  became  restive,  and  would  not  touch 
his  provender,  keeping  his  head  close  to  the  ground,  as  if 
hearing  something  afar   off.      The   leaders   hastened   his 
orders  to  depart.     All  were  mounted,  and  had  proceeded 
about  a  mile,  when  a  band  of  enemies  on  horses  and  drome 
daries  dashed  in  upon  them,  making  a  desperate  charge. 
The  Arabs  were  brave,  and  fought  as  long  as  they  could. 
Russell,  thinking  it  was  for  life  and  liberty,  made  a  most 
desperate  fight ;  but  all  was  in  vain.     The  assailants  were 
numerous,  and  their  conquest  was  easy.     Two  of  the  cara 
van  escaped  :  the  rest  were  killed,  wounded,  or  taken  pris- 


THE    BACHELORS.  19 

oners.  Russell  fell  under  the  sabres  of  his  foes,  with  many 
wounds  ;  but  none  of  them  were  mortal.  He  had  several 
cuts  in  the  breast  and  arms,  and  was  exhausted  from  loss 
of  blood. 

As  soon  as  the  fight  was  over,  the  assailants,  knowing  the 
importance  of  their  prisoner,  bound  up  his  wounds  with 
bruised  poppies,  and  gave  him  barley-water  to  raise  his 
exhausted  spirits.    They  laid  him  in  their  tents,  on  the  skin 
of  a  camel,  and  treated  him  with  great  attention  from  mere 
mercenary  motives.     This  first  night  was  an  awful  one  to 
him :    he  saw  the  stars  performing  their  destined  courses, 
while  the  moon  was  riding  in  majesty  over  his  head.     The 
silence  was  distressing.     No  sound  broke  the  stillness  of 
the  night :  the  long,  sighing  breaths  of  the  camel  and  drome 
dary  alone  were  heard;    for  the  Arabs  were  all  in  pro. 
found  repose.     One  constellation  sunk  after  another,  until 
the  morning  sun  arose.     He  was  unable  to  drag  one  limb 
after  another — but  they  must  go  on.     They  tied  him  to  a 
bed  on  the  back  of  a  camel,  and  pushed  onwards,  fearing 
to  remain  in  the  same  situation,  apprehending  a  vigorous 
pursuit.     This  situation  was  not  so  distressing  as  he  ex- 
pected,  for  their  progress  was  slower  than  common,  and 
their  regard  for  his  comfort  greater  than  he  anticipated. 
His  reflections  were,  however,  any  thing    but   pleasant. 
Talking  to  himself,  he  said,  "  Why  should  I  have  left  my 
native  land,  where  fame  and  even  pleasure  awaited  me,  to 
roam  in  this  barbarous  country,  to  satisfy  my  curiosity, 
without  doing  much  good  to  my  fellow-men  ?     Why  should 
I  have  left  the  charms  of  civil  and  social  life,  to  wander 
among  savage  men  ?     I  could  have  slept  in  quiet  in  my 
own  bed,  in  the  land  of  my  nativity,  and  have  received 
every  attention  that  wealth  and  respect  could  have  com. 
manded,  and  now  I  am  a  slave — a  wounded  man;   and 


20  THE   BACHELORS. 

Heaven  only  knows  if  ever  I  am  again  to  see  the  faces  I 
once  looked  upon,  and  loved !  This  is  travelling  to  satisfy 
the  restlessness  of  the  mind."  With  these  thoughts  he 
passed  the  night,  drawing  no  other  consolation  than  that 
which  arose  from  believing;  that  his  wounds  were  not  mortal. 

By  many  marches,  he  was  conveyed  to  the  much  distin 
guished  residence  of  the  tribe  to  whom  he  was  now  a  pris 
oner.  They  knew  his  situation  in  life,  and  were  determined 
not  to  lose  their  prize.  When  he  reached  the  usual  abode 
of  the  Arab  women,  he  was  treated  with  no  ordinary  kind- 
ness,  for  they  all  understood  that  he  would  be  ransomed  at 
a  high  price.  From  the  strength  of  his  constitution,  and 
the  simplicity  of  his  living,  he  began  to  recruit,  and  in  a  few 
weeks  was  nearly  well  again ;  but  not  a  word  was  dropped 
about  his  ransom.  Still,  he  was  comparatively  happy, 
from  the  attentions  he  received  among  his  new  acquaint 
ances.  The  chief  Arab's  daughter  made  him  delicate 
cakes  of  pease  meal  and  barley,  and  gave  them  to  him 
daily,  when  the  father  was  absent.  This  was  done  with  a 
tenderness  that  won  his  heart.  He  would  often  say  to  him 
self,  "  Oh  woman !  how  kind  thou  art  in  all  tribes  and  peo 
ple,  while  savage  man  acts  like  a  hard  master — aye,  and 
often  like  a  brute  !"  The  mother  and  daughter  would  steal 
to  his  tent,  and  give  him  goats'  milk  and  little  cheeses,  when 
the  lordly  chief  was  fast  asleep.  He  said  to  himself,  "  I  do 
not  deserve  this !  Have  I  not  entered  into  a  league  to  abjure 
the  marriage  tie  1  Why  do  they  harass  me  with  their  kind 
ness  ?  it  is  only  a  satire  on  my  outrageous  pledge !  But 
they  know  it  not."  The  chief  began  to  think  of  making 
him  a  son-in-law  ;  but  to  every  intimation  of  this  kind  he 
was  dumb,  and  appeared  not  to  understand  the  hints  given 
him. 

The  long  absence  of  the  traveller  from  Bombay,  without 


THE  BACHELORS:  21 

uny  direct  intelligence  from  him,  at  first  began  to  alarm  his 
friends,  and  at  length  rumors  of  his  death  were  prevalent. 
It  was  stated  that  he  had  fallen  in  an  attack  upon  the  cara 
van,  who  had  pledged  themselves  for  his  safety  at  Mocha. 
Those  who  escaped  stated  that  they  saw  him  fall  under  the 
sabres  of  two  fierce  Arabs,  while  fighting  manfully  for  his 
life.  No  hopes  remained  for  his  safety,  among  his  friends 
in  general  at  Bombay.  But  his  female  friend,  Cynthia 
Long,  could  not  be  satisfied  that  her  friend  Russell  was 
dead.  She  mourned  his  fate,  with  others,  but  still  could  not 
give  him  up  entirely.  She  could  not  feel  that  the  gallant 
and  accomplished  Russell  was  dead  ;  and  she  dwelt  upon 
the  subject,  until  she  saw  him  in  imagination,  a  slave,  going 
through  every  scene  of  degradation.  In  this  frame  of  mind, 
she  applied  to  an  old  Arab,  who  kept  a  sort  of  Cafe  at  the 
corner  of  one  of  the  streets  near  her  father's  residence,  to 
learn  if  he  knew  any  thing  of  the  course  her  friend  had 
taken.  Pie  was  well  acquainted  with  his  whole  route,  and 
told  her  that,  in  his  opinion,  Russell  was  still  alive,  as  his 
ransom  must  have  been  the  principal  object  of  the  expedi 
tion  to  attack  the  caravan.  The  bargain  was  soon  made 
between  old  Hassan  and  Cynthia.  She  was  to  furnish  him 
with  money,  and  he  was  to  set  out  immediately,  to  find  the 
Captain.  Cynthia,  without  hesitation,  pawned  her  jewels, 
and  raised  two  thousand  dollars,  iu  gold  sequins,  for  the 
enterprize.  Hassan  received  his  instructions,  and  was  off 
the  next  morning.  He  went  to  Mocha — learned  all  about 
the  caravan  that  was  cut  up  in  its  course  to  Jerusalem.  He 
followed  the  track,  faithful  to  his  promise,  in  the  garb  of  a 
poor  Arab,  until  he  found  his  long-sought  object.  He 
entered  the  tent  where  Russell  was  a  prisoner,  and  now  felt 
that  half  was  done,  and  more,  when  he  was  assured  that  he 
was  in  fine  health.  Hassan  had  come  a  mendicant  to  the 

B 


22  THE    BACHELORS. 

wealthy  Arab's  tent,  and  took  no  notice  of  his  slave.  After 
some  inquiries,  he  stated  to  the  chief  that  great  concern  had 
been  felt  at  Mocha  for  a  traveller  who  had  joined  a  caravan 
to  search  for  medicinal  herbs  in  that  region ;  and  suggested 
that  a  liberal  sum  would  be  given  for  his  ransom,  if  he  could 
be  found.  The  avaricious  feelings  of  the  chief  were  exci 
ted  ;  and  believing  that  his  slave  was  the  traveller,  seemed 
to  listen  to  the  suggestions  of  the  mendicant :  which  ended 
at  length  in  a  determination  to  go  with  his  slave  to  a  place 
near  Mocha,  to  see  if  the  ransom  could  be  obtained.  They 
were  soon  on  their  way.  Hassan  had  declared  on  his  word, 
as  a  Mussulman,  that  he  had  heard  a  merchant  of  distinc 
tion — Tariff  Ben  Hafiz — offer  a  thousand  dollars  for  the 
ransom  of  the  traveller,  and  he  thought  he  would  give 
more.  Within  a  short  distance  from  the  city,  they  stopped, 
and  Hassan  repaired  at  once  to  Mocha.  In  a  few  days, 
Hafiz  appeared — a  merchant,  whose  garb  bespoke  him  a 
man  of  consequence.  The  money — fifteen  hundred  dollars 
— was  paid,  and  a  bill  of  sale  was  given.  "  Go,  traveller," 
said  Hafiz,  "  and  enjoy  yourself  among  the  daughters  of 
your  land,  and  make  no  farther  attempt  to  explore  these 
dangerous  paths.  Curiosity  is  a  vice,  when  it  is  attended 
by  too  much  danger.  Go,  cultivate  your  maize — extend 
your  commerce  ;  but  leave  the  desert  for  those  who  were 
born  near  it,  and  must  cross  it."  "  I  am  willing  and  able 
to  repay  you  my  ransom,"  said  Russell.  "  I  know  it,"  said 
Hafiz.  Meet  me  at  Bombay:  I  will  there  take  rny  right, 
and  only  that.  An  Arab  may  be  a  robber,  but  never  a 
usurer.  There,  sir,  I  shall  exact  the  last  sequin  1  shall 
pay.  This,  however,  you  must  add  to  your  ransom — these 
sequins — that  you  may  go  to  Bombay  as  a  gentleman.  On 
my  pledge,  I  will  be  there  as  soon  as  you  are,  and  demand 
my  advance :"  and  waving  his  hand  with  Oriental  grace 
and  dignity,  bade  the  traveller  adieu. 


THE    BACHELORS.  23 

A  vessel  soon  sailed  from  Mocha  to  Bombay,  on  board 
of  which  a  humble  Arab  occupied  a  place  in  the  steerage, 
and  on  the  voyage  fell  dangerously  sick.  He  was  an  old 
man.  Russell  became  acquainted  with  his  case  ;  for  there 
are  none  so  ready  to  become  acquainted  with  the  miseries 
of  others,  as  those  who  have  suffered  themselves.  Russell 
attended  the  old  man's  couch  with  every  medicine  consid 
ered  proper  in  his  case  ;  and  when  it  was  allowed  him  to 
recruit  by  delicate  food,  Russell  brought  it  to  him  at  the 
proper  hours.  It  was  received  with  great  gratitude  ;  but 
at  the  same  time,  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  say  that  I 
have  done  this  thing  to  others.  The  attachment  between 
the  patient  and  the  nurse  seemed  to  grow  daily  ;  and  Rus. 
sell  made  the  old  Arab  promise  him  that  he  would  call  on 
him  when  they  arrived  at  Bombay,  and  renew  their  inter- 
course.  The  sick  man  was  at  home  at  Bombay  ;  and  men 
tioned  not  only  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  but  also  Mr.  Consul 
Long  and  his  daughter  Cynthia,  among  his  friends.  "  Then," 
said  Russell,  "you  are  my  friend — I  am  his  friend."  "And 
they  are  more  your  friends,"  said  Hassan,  "  than  you  will 
ever  know."  The  manner  in  which  this  was  said  was  so 
peculiar,  Russell  noticed  it,  but  could  not  precisely  compre 
hend  what  was  meant  by  the  expression,  the  Asiatics  are 
so  full  of  enigma.  Once  or  twice,  the  old  Arab  spoke  of 
Cynthia  Long,  in  a  manner  that  stumbled  Russell.  "  Can 
this  old  fellow,"  said  he,  mentally,  "  have  a  passion  for  this 
young  lady  ?" 

On  the  arrival  of  the  vessel  at  Bombay,  Russell  was 
received  by  all  his  friends  as  one  raised  from  the  dead. 
He  slated  the  whole  history  of  the  adventure,  and  all  agreed 
that  it  was  passing  strange.  Every  day  he  became  more 
and  more  interested  in  Cynthia,  and  thought  less  of  his  idle 
pledge.  To  ease  his  own  mind  on  the  subject,  he  consulted 


24  THE    BACHELORS. 

the  rector  of  the  Episcopalian  church  on  a  supposed  case 
of  conscience,  stating  his  own  exactly.  The  rector  laughed' 
at  him,  to  think  a  man  of  sense  could  have  any  scruples  on 
such  a  question.  The  vow,  when  made  to  the  Lord,  was 
not  even  required  to  be  paid,  if  any  thing  injurious  to 
another  might  flow  from  the  fulfilment  of  it.  The  pledge 
of  honor,  even  among  men  of  the  world,  was  not  binding 
in  a  court  of  honor,  unless  it  would  enhance  another's  hap. 
piness,  or  shed  some  new  rays  of  glory  on  one's  country  or 
his  own  fame.  Sir  James  being  present,  placed  the  subject 
on  the  right  grounds,  as  he  did  every  thing ;  and  Russell 
made  up  his  mind  to  make  proposals  to  Cynthia,  having  a 
belief  that  he  could  obtain  the  consent  of  her  parents.  He 
waited  now  only  for  the  appearance  of  the  Arabian  mer 
chant,  whose  visit  he  so  much  desired :  for  he  was  not 
apprized  of  the  sum  paid  for  his  ransom  ;  but  thought  that 
it  must  have  been  great,  as  his  owner  held  him  at  a  high 
price,  in  comparison  with  others  their  prisoners,  to  slave- 
traders  who  had  made  offers  for  him.  No  Tariff  Ben 
Hafiz  came.  Russell  requested  Mr.  Long  to  take  from  the 
fund  in  his  hands  twice  the  sum  he  had  ever  known  paid 
for  the  ransom  of  any  captive,  and  sequester  it  for  the  pay 
ment  to  the  merchant  when  he  might  arrive.  In  a  few 
days  an  opportunity  occurred  for  Russell  to  offer  himself. 
In  wandering  about  the  botanical  garden,  then  under  the 
super visorship  of  Sir  James,  Russell  took  up  a  violet  of 
the  tricolor  purple  kind,  and  gave  it  to  Cynthia.  They  had 
been  talking  of  the  Oriental  language  of  flowers.  She 
placed  it  on  her  bosom.  He  said  no  more.  On  their 
return,  he  made  his  wishes  known  to  the  parents  of  Cynthia, 
and  presented  them  with  further  credentials  than  he  had- 
before  exhibited,  and  found  that  his  suit  was  prosperous. 
He  now  prepared  to  be  married  by  the  consent  of  all  par-. 


THE  BACHELORS.  25 

ties,  and  to  return  to  his  native  country,  having  made  a  free 
and  candid  statement  of  his  whole  course  of  life. 

Mr.  Long,  having  determined  to  give  his  daughter  a 
splendid  set  of  diamonds  on  her  marriage,  repaired  to  Sam 
uel  the  Israelite,  who  was  the  first  jeweller  of  Bombay,  for 
a  set  of  diamonds.  He  was  told  by  Samuel  that  he  had  a 
set  that  he  could  furnish  at  a  low  price,  as  he  had  received 
them  as  a  pledge  for  a  certain  sum  of  money  from  a  young 
lady  of  the  city,  who  had  come  to  him  in  disguise.  They 
were  pledged  for  two  thousand  dollars.  Mr.  Long  was 
astonished  to  see  that  these  gems  bore  his  own  daughter's 
initials.  He  said,  "  I  will  take  them  to  my  house,  Samuel, 
and  see  if  they  will  suit."  He  entered  the  house  with  a 
slow  and  measured  step ;  and  opening  the  casket  in  a  sig 
nificant  manner,  enquired  how  these  jewels  suited.  Cynthia 
raised  herself  with  more  than  ordinary  majesty,  and  said, 
"  Father,  they  are  the  only  jewels  I  ever  wish  to  accept. 
They  were  once  mine :  I  pawned  them  to  redeem  a  friend 
from  slavery  and  death — that  friend  is  before  you."  The 
Anglo. Iberian  maid  quailed  not  before  her  father's  stern 
look.  "  I  sent  Hassan  on  the  errand  of  enquiry.  He  also 
was  the  Arab  merchant  who  purchased  Mr.  Russell,  and 
my  jewels  were  the  means  to  save  my  friend  from  captivity. 
Condemn  me  who  will.  It  was  Hassan  who  ordered  him 
to  come  to  Bombay — 1  gave  no  such  orders.  I  supposed 
that  he  would  have  taken  some  other  course,  and  that  I 
never  should  have  seen  him  again."  Russell  rushed  for 
ward,  and  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  exclaimed,  "  My  guar 
dian  angel !  nothing  but  the  decrees  of  heaven  shall  part  us 
hereafter."  The  father  and  mother  were  in  ecstasy.  The 
story  took  wing ;  and  old  Hassan  was,  at  once,  put  into  a 
noble  cafe,  and  amply  paid  for  his  services.  Mr.  Long 
gave  his  daughter  to  his  American  friend,  and  Sir  James 
B  3 


26  THE   BACHELORS, 

was  the  friend  of  the  bridegroom  ;  and  the  casuistic  parson 
joined  Montjoy  Tileston  Russell,  the  American  traveller,  to 
Cynthia  Long,  the  Anglo-Iberian  maid,  who  had,  in  the 
generosity  of  her  nature,  saved  her  friend  from  captivity. 
The  whole  city  rejoiced  at  the  event ;  and  as  the  happy 
pair  returned  from  church,  the  populace  strewed  flowers  in 
their  pathway.  In  a  few  weeks,  a  ship  was  bought,  and 
Russell  and  his  lady  were  ready  to  depart  for  America. 
The  ship  had  a  full  cargo  of  goods,  Mr.  Long  gave  a  sup 
per  to  his  friends,  and  Sir  James  was  there,  in  the  full  glow 
of  his  intellectual  powers,  and  old  Hassan  was  invited  to 
the  feast.  It  was  one  of  mind  and  feeling.  Sir  James  was 
full  of  playfulness,  and  had  many  allusions  to  the  union  of 
the  two  countries.  He  gave  many  splendid  anticipations  of 
future  events  ;  and  said,  the  mother  and  the  daughter  were 
one  day  to  be  the  arbiters  of  the  world.  Old  Hassan  whis 
pered  in  Cynthia's  ear,  that  he  wished  to  leave  Asia  for 
America ;  and  Russell  declared  that  nothing  would  give 
him  more  pleasure,  than  to  take  the  old  man  out  with  him. 
The  voyage  was  soon  got  up,  and  all  was  in  readiness. 
The  parting  was  painful  :  but  a  woman  goes  with  one  she 
loves  to  any  clime  or  country,  with  a  blindness  that  proves 
her  love.  This  has  been,  is,  and  for  ever  will  be  the  law 
of  nature.  All  Bombay  were  on  the  shore,  when  Russell 
and  his  spouse  departed.  The  clergyman  waved  his  hands 
and  blessed  them,  as  he  saw  them  depart.  All  said,  "  God 
bless  the  new-married  couple  !"  The  voyage  was  a  pleas 
ant  one,  and  they  reached  the  shores  of  the  United  States 
without  any  disaster.  Russell  was  known  to  be  one  of  the 
three  bachelors,  and  every  one  was  waiting  to  witness  the 
effect  on  the  other  two.  They,  too,  heard  the  story,  and 
were  silent.  Not  a  word  escaped  their  lips.  Thompson  and 
Gilbert,  perhaps,  had  some  conversation  among  themselves,; 


THE    BACHELORS.  27 

but  whatever  it  might  have  been,  it  never  reached  the  world. 
They  still  persevered  in  their  course,  without  any  observa 
tions  on  the  direliction  of  their  friend.  Russell  felt  an  awk 
wardness  in  his  situation,  as  it  regarded  his  friends,  but 
made  no  explanations. 

Thompson  still  was  delighted  with  his  employment  as  an 
agriculturist,  but  more  particularly  as  a  gardener  of  Flora. 
His  garden,  conservatory,  and  green  house,  attracted  the 
attention  not  only  of  his  neighbors,  but  also  of  every  trav 
eller.  Those  who  came  with  a  line  from  a  friend,  were 
invited  to  partake  of  refreshments  in  his  hospitable  mansion, 
and  all  had  an  opportunity  of  visiting  his  grounds.  He  was 
in  advance  of  all  the  florists  in  the  country.  He  had  a 
larger  collection  of  roses  than  any  other  person,  and  a 
greater  variety  of  exotics  of  every  kind.  But  the  flower  he 
loved  the  most  was  the  tricolored  violet,  called  heart's  ease, 
forget-me-not,  and  sometimes  a  pansey.  This  little  flower 
throughout  Europe  and  Asia,  for  countless  ages,  has  been 
an  emblem  of  affection. 

Gilbert  still  pursued  his  course  of  study — furnishing  the 
periodicals  with  articles  on  astronomy,  for  his  amusement ; 
but  he  sometimes  felt  that  man  was  born  to  live  on  the  earth, 
and  rest  securely  while  connected  with  his  fellow-man. 
Often  he  was  found  to  acknowledge  that  he  was  fatigued 
when  he  returned  from  his  flights  through  the  heavens,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  rest  himself  by  indulging  in  the  reveries  of 
fancy.  One  of  his  favorite  amusements  was  to  people  the 
planets  with  beings  of  his  own  creation.  He  wrote  a  poem 
which  he  called  "  Urania"  describing  the  inhabitants  of  his 
beloved  Venus — with  their  beautiful  change  of  seasons,  their 
refined  manners  and  high  poetical  character,  their  freedom 
from  political  feuds,  and  the  perpetual  sunshine  of  the  soul 
which  reigned  among  them.  He  dwelt  on  this  subject  until 


28  TUB    BACHELORS. 

he  loved  to  watch  that  lovely  star  that  shines  brightest  in 
the  heavens,  whether  she  belonged  to  the  evening  shades  or 
to  the  morning's  dawn.  He  dwelt  upon  the  heavens,  until, 
like  our  first  parents  in  the  bower  of  Eden,  he  communed 
with  celestial  spirits — and,  although  no  Eve  was  with  him, 
could  say  to  these  creatures  of  his  imagination, — 

"  How  often,  from  the  steep 

Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket,  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voice  to  the  midnight  air; 
Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other  note, 
Singing  the  Great  Creator !     Oft  in  bands, 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 
With  heavenly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds, 
In  full  harmonious  number  join'd,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  heaven." 

He  carried  his  devotion  to  his  loved  star,  and  to  the  whole 
host  of  the  skies,  so  far,  that  some  began  to  think  him  so 
much  under  the  influence  of  the  moon  or  stars,  that  he  was 
not  competent  to  take  care  of  himself.  Among  them  was 
an  only  nephew — a  profligate  young  man,  who  had  squan 
dered  his  own  property,  and  was  now  waiting  for  his  uncle's. 
In  an  evil  hour  he  petitioned  the  Judge  of  Probate  to  appoint 
him  guardian  to  his  uncle.  The  Judge  knew  the  astrono 
mer,  and  indignantly  refused  to  consider  the  application. 
The  young  man's  prospects  were  ruined  for  ever.  This 
eagerness  to  inherit,  is  often  the  cause  of  never  inheriting. 
This  act  of  his  nephew  so  severely  wounded  Gilbert's  pride, 
that  he  could  not  contain  himself  within  any  bounds  of  pru 
dence,  and  his  rage  at  the  insult  was  almost  sufficient 
to  induce  those  unacquainted  with  him,  to  suppose  there  was 
some  aberration  of  mind  in  his  conduct.  The  ingratitude 
of  his  nephew  stung  him  to  the  heart,  and  he  began  to  think 
that  the  pursuits  of  science  were  vain,  if  they  led  to  such 
disasters.  He  communed  with  Thompson  on  his  mortifi 
cation,  who  gave  him  good  counsel,  and  recommended  him 


THE    BACHELORS.  29 

to  pursue  for  some  time  the  general  wanderings  of  literature 
in  his  delightful  garden.  This  offer  was  accepted — and, 
for  several  of  the  summer  months,  he  took  up  his  abode  with 
his  friend. 

Russell  was  happy  in  his  family,  and  for  awhile  successful 
in  his  business  ;  but,  after  several  years,  finding  his  pro- 
perty  in  some  measure  reduced,  by  losses  at  sea,  he  closed 
his  business,  and  retired  into  the  country,  some  eight  or 
ten  miles  from  his  former  friends  ;  but,  as  they  seldom 
visited  their  neighbors,  he  did  not  see  them — until  the  time 
we  have  mentioned  of  their  being  together  after  the  wound 
had  been  given  to  the  feelings  of  Gilbert  by  his  nephew — 
and  then  the  meeting  was  accidental.  Riding  around  the 
country  with  his  whole  family  in  a  large  carry-all,  the  driver 
took  such  roads  as  he  thought  would  give  them  the  best  view 
of  the  country.  Thompson's  garden  was  to  be  seen  from 
the  street — and  the  children  cried  out  to  the  driver  to  stop, 
and  let  them  see  Paradise.  This  compliment  was  heard  by 
the  owner  of  the  premises — and  he  raised  his  head  from  the 
flowers  he  was  examining,  and  saw  Russell  and  his  family, 
and  noticed  the  impatience  of  the  children  to  walk  in  the 
garden — and,  stepping  up  to  the  wall,  invited  the  children 
to  come  in ;  and,  opening  the  gate  himself,  came  up  to  the 
carriage  and  offered  Mrs.  Russell  his  hand,  to  conduct  her 
to  the  garden.  She  did  not  know  the  gentleman.  As  he 
entered  the  enclosure,  he  with  great  embarrassment  stam 
mered  out — "  Russell,  will  you  not  do  me  the  honor  of  look 
ing  at  these  flowers  with  your  children?"  He  descended 
from  the  carriage,  and  entered  the  garden.  Thompson 
gazed  on  him  a  moment,  and  then  rushed  into  Russell's 
embrace.  They  forgave  each  other  ;  no  explanations  were 
necessary.  The  wife,  from  what  she  had  heard  from  her 
husband  when  they  were  married,  instantly  understood  the 


30  THE    BACHELORS. 

whole  matter — and  hastened  to  find  her  strolling  children. 
Gilbert  had  seen  the  interview  from  the  summer-house,  and 
flew  out  to  meet  them.  He  read  all  at  a  glance,  and  de 
clared  that  it  was  the  happiest  moment  of  his  life.  As  soon 
as  the  three  friends  were  a  little  more  composed,  they  went 
in  search  of  Madam  Russell. 

Thompson  and  Gilbert  were  introduced  to  the  wife  of 
their  friend — an  elegant  and  accomplished  woman.  She 
received  them  as  old  friends,  and  in  ten  minutes  the  children 
were  climbing  up  to  get  into  the  arms  of  their  new  friends. 
They  were  invited  to  stay  and  dine — which  invitation  was 
accepted — and  a  happy  time  they  had  of  it.  The  two 
bachelors  were  delighted  to  find  the  second  and  third  sons 
were  named  for  them — the  first  being  called  after  the  ma 
ternal  grandfather. 

They  lived  for  several  years  in  almost  daily  intercourse. 
The  bachelors  came  to  dine  with  Russell,  and  they  became 
more  attached  to  each  other  than  they  had  ever  been  in 
their  youthful  days.  Calling  to  mind  who  it  was  that  had 
made  their  fortunes,  they  secured  the  inheritance  of  a  good 
portion  of  their  estates  to  Russell's  children — who,  in  every 
respect,  deserved  their  good  fortune.  On  the  marriage  of 
Russell's  eldest  daughter,  her  grandfather  (Mr.  Long)  and 
his  wife,  who  had  several  years  before  returned  to  England, 
were  present,  having  come  to  this  country  to  see  their  chil 
dren  and  grandchildren.  The  bachelors  were  present,  and 
enjoyed  the  scene,  perhaps,  more  than  either  the  parents  or 
grandparents.  Sitting  at  the  supper-table  after  the  others 
had  retired,  Thompson  gave  the  substance  of  this  narrative 
to  the  writer  of  this  tale — closing  it  with  this  emphatic 
remark — "  That  no  man  was  ever  happy,  even  in  Paradise, 
or  in  the  loftiest  flights  of  the  imagination,  or  in  the  depths 
of  science,  who  neglected  to  follow  the  laws  of  nature  and 
the  commands  of  God." 


THE  INTEMPERATE. 


IC I  have  lived  much  in  the  world,  and  for  it :  but  1  have  done  nothing  for 
myself.  When  I  am  gone,  tell  my  story,  in  truth  and  candor,  with  no  other 
disguise,  than  to  save  the  feelings  of  a  few  of  my  kindred  and  friends  Plant  a 
beacon-light  on  my  grave,  that  others  of  the  gay  world  may  shun  the  rock  on 
which  I  have  split." 

From  the  directions  of  the  Subject  of  this  Tale  to  the  Author. 


How  many  of  the  human  race,  and  particularly  of  our 
own  countrymen,  there  have  been,  who  were  rocked  in 
their  infancy  in  the  iron  cradle,  by  the  rude  blasts  of  mis 
fortune,  and  who  have  grown  hardy  by  the  early  storms  of 
life — and  who,  too,  have  won  an  enviable  fame,  stood  ex- 
alted  on  the  lists  of  the  mighty  in  intellect,  and  among  the 
prosperous  in  accumulating  wealth  !  But  there  is  another 
side  to  the  picture.  Some,  whose  swaddling-bands  were 
fine  linen,  and  whose  cradle  turned  on  golden  hinges — on 
whose  infant  heads  shone  the  sun  of  prosperity,  have  expired 
in  the  abodes  of  misery,  on  a  pallet  of  straw.  Others  have 
lost  their  reputation,  if  they  saved  themselves  from  want ; 
and  when  they  might  have  "  rode  the  waves  of  glory"  have 
sunk  into  dishonorable  graves.  The  most  melancholy 
instance  within  my  memory  is  here  recorded. 

THOMAS  CHARLES  HAMPTON  was  born  on  the  28th  of 
June,  1777 — the  day  on  which  the  battle  of  Monmouth  was 
fought.  His  parents  were  opulent  and  pious.  He  was  a 
fine-formed  infant,  and  grew  rapidly,  with  a  healthy  consti- 


32  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

tution.  His  fond  and  intelligent  mother  took  great  pains  to 
develope  his  infant  faculties.  She  taught  him  to  read, 
while  other  children  of  the  same  age  could  not  name  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet.  From  the  nursery,  he  passed  to 
the  school-room,  much  younger  than  other  boys.  At  seven 
years  of  age,  he  commenced  the  study  of  the  Latin  lan 
guage,  and  made  wonderful  progress.  He  was,  in  temper, 
as  extraordinary  as  in  person.  His  hair  curled  in  golden 
ringlets  over  his  forehead,  and  they  were  the  admiration  of 
all  beholders. 

At  an  examination  of  the  school,  when  he  was  quite  a 
child,  an  aged  divine  called  him,  after  hearing  his  recita 
tions,  an  infant  Adonis ;  to  which  the  child  replied,  "  I  hope 
it  will  not  be  my  fate  to  be  killed  by  a  wild  boar."  This 
quick  and  classical  observation  still  more  astonished  his 
examiner.  He  was  the  best-natured  boy  in  the  school. 
The  boys  who  were  not  so  forward  as  himself,  knew  where 
to  go  for  assistance  in  the  classics  :  his  own  lesson  was  soon 
treasured  up,  and  then  he  was  ready  to  assist  all  who 
required  his  aid.  Hampton  never  missed  a  recitation,  and 
seldom  came  to  his  task  without  being  master  of  it.  At 
fourteen  years  of  age,  he  left  his  preparatory  school  for 
Harvard  College,  forward  of  his  classmates  in  geography, 
history,  languages,  and  general  information.  He  soon 
became  a  favorite  in  his  class,  and  was  called  Little  Hamp 
ton  by  way  of  affection,  and  was  the  friend  of  every  one. 
This  popularity  soon  proved  an  injury  to  him  ;  for  he  was 
so  much  courted,  that  he  was  under  the  necessity,  as  he 
thought,  of  spending  much  of  his  time  in  company.  He 
did  not  feel  the  effects  of  this  at  first,  he  was  so  much  bet 
ter  prepared  for  college  studies  than  most  of  his  associates ; 
but  after  his  second  year  he  was  forced  to  be  more  studious, 
as  the  lessons  did  not  depend  so  much  on  memory  as  on 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  3d 

judgement  and  reflection.  He  bent  his  mind  to  his  tasks, 
but  two  years'  negligence  required  hard  labor  to  redeem. 
His  resolution,  however,  did  not  flag,  and  he  graduated,  if 
not  the  first,  still  among  the  first  of  his  class.  As  a  speaker, 
he  had  no  rival.  His  eloquence  formed  an  era  in  college 
history.  His  memory  was  tenacious,  and  his  voice  one  of 
great  compass  and  sweetness.  The  chapel  was  always 
crowded,  when  it  was  known  that  Hampton  was  to  declaim. 
This  reputation  brought  him  acquainted  with  several  distin 
guished  actors,  then  lately  arrived  in  this  country,  and  who 
were  deservedly  popular — Hodgkins,  Jones,  Taylor,  Chal 
mers,  Villiers,  and  others.  He  often  met  them,  and  passed 
a  delightful  evening  in  their  company  ;  and  such  were  the 
fascinations  of  their  colloquial  powers,  that  he  could  not 
refrain  from  meeting  them  often :  and  as  they  could  not 
begin  the  pleasures  of  the  evening  until  their  stage  duties 
were  over,  it  was  necessarily  very  late  when  the  social 
circle  broke  up.  In  the  parties  of  these  actors  and  wits, 
there  were  often  many  elegant  minds,  who  were  enamored 
with  the  charm  of  the  drama.  They  thought  a  play-house 
the  Eden  of  life.  Many  of  these  young  men  paid  dearly 
for  indulging  this  passion,  suffering  many  years  before  this 
delusion  passed  away. 

No  man  ever  possessed  higher  qualifications  for  a  table 
companion  than  Hampton:  he  could  sing  enchantingly,  and 
had  committed  to  memory  a  great  number  of  songs,  gay  and 
solemn.  He  was  full  of  anecdotes,  and  admirable  at  attack 
and  retort,  in  the  conversation  of  the  social  circle.  His 
flashes  of  wit  were  dazzling,  but  he  never  scorched  or 
wounded  his  friends,  however  warm  the  dialogue  might  be. 
If  he  bent  his  bow  with  more  than  mortal  vigor,  his  arrows, 
like  those  of  Ascanius,  passed  off  in  a  harmless  blaze  of 
light,  all  knowing  that  the  archer  was  a  favorite  of  the  gods, 

C 


34  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

and  had  no  intention  of  injuring  man.  In  this  society  he 
lingered,  until  duty  called  him  home,  to  look  after  his  pecu 
niary  affairs.  His  mother  had  died  suddenly,  and  he  came 
into  possession  on  this  event  of  a  large  estate,  left  him  by 
his  maternal  grandfather.  He  was  an  only  son,  and  at  his 
mother's  death  an  only  child.  After  settling  his  affairs,  he 
entered  his  name  with  a  distinguished  counsellor  at  law,  and 
commenced  reading  the  prescribed  course  for  a  practitioner. 
He  continued  his  studies,  and  at  the  end  of  three  years  was 
admitted  to  the  bar.  Great  expectations  were  cherished  by 
his  friends,  in  regard  to  his  professional  success,  particularly 
as  an  advocate.  He  argued  several  causes  with  great  elo 
quence  and  power,  but  it  was  soon  seen  that  he  wanted  in 
industry.  He  had  in  fact  no  partiality  for  his  profession. 
He  abhorred  its  drudgery,  and  thought  that  it  made  him  too 
much  acquainted  with  crime.  As  he  was  passing  away  his 
days  without  effect,  and  in  a  state  of  indifference,  a  disturb 
ance  amounting  to  something  like  a  war  broke  out  between 
this  country  and  France,  and  Congress  authorized  the  rais 
ing  of  troops,  to  constitute  an  army  of  defence.  The  pride 
of  the  country,  General  Hamilton,  was  the  First  Major 
General,  and  Washington  was  appointed  Lieutenant  Gene 
ral,  and  was  to  take  the  command  when  the  occasion  called 
him  to  the  field.  All  the  first  young  men  of  the  country 
panted  for  office  ;  and  among  them  Hampton  applied  for  an 
appointment,  and  received  at  once  a  majority,  to  the  great 
grief  of  his  best  friends,  but  to  the  delight  of  the  army.  He 
repaired  to  Oxford,  assumed  command,  and  was  at  once 
the  pride  and  delight  of  all.  He  had  made  himself  master 
of  his  duties,  and  took  rank  as  a  parade  officer  higher  than 
any  one  in  camp.  He  appeared  to  his  less  instructed  bro 
ther  officers  as  a  veteran  in  knowledge,  and  was  called  the 
Steuben  of  tike  army.  The  army  was  not  then  a  goo 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  35 

school  for  morals  for  young  men  :  the  officers  were  many 
of  them  wealthy,  and  lived  extravagantly.  Major  Hamp 
ton  was  so  popular,  that  every  one  was  desirous  of  enjoying 
his  society,  and  he  lived  in  a  constant  round  of  dissipation, 
at  his  own,  or  at  the  table  of  others.  The  army  was  soon 
disbanded,  and  he  returned  to  social  life,  with  no  greater 
love  for  his  legal  profession  than  he  had  felt  when  he  left  it, 
and  he  could  not  be  prevailed  on  to  return  to  his  duties.  In 
the  town  where  he  lived,  it  was  not  respectable  to  live  with- 
out  attention  to  some  business,  and  he  was  advised  to  find  a 
partner,  and  engage  in  commercial  pursuits.  He  soon  took 
as  a  partner  a  well-bred  young  merchant,  and  commenced 
business.  For  a  while,  the  major  seemed  pleased  with  his 
occupation.  He  kept  his  books  with  great  care  ;  but  the 
novelty  soon  wore  off,  and  he  grew  tired  of  the  confine- 
ment ;  and  as  often  as  he  could  took  his  journies  of  pleasure 
with  a  few  gay  friends,  and  left  his  partner  to  do  in-door  as 
well  as  out-door  business ;  and  when  he  returned,  it  was 
with  a  diminished  relish  for  labor.  Perhaps  from  some 
compunction  of  conscience  he  would  engage  with  new  zeal, 
but  this  did  not  last  long.  The  nations  of  Europe  were  then 
at  war,  and  the  United  States  had  the  carrying  trade,  and 
fortunes  were  rapidly  made.  Hampton's  partner  proposed 
a  dissolution,  which  was  soon  effected,  although  both  parties 
were  advised  to  the  contrary.  On  settlement,  they  divided 
large  profits,  and  the  major  found  that  he  was  a  rich  man. 
He  at  once  made  judicious  purchases  of  real  estate,  and  put 
the  balance  of  his  funds  into  the  stocks.  He  had  enough, 
for  he  was  not  then  avaricious.  To  every  literary  institu 
tion,  he  was  among  the  most  liberal  benefactors.  To  the 
poor,  he  was  always  generous,  and  made  it  a  part  of  his 
duty  to  see  to  their  wants  in  person.  At  his  place  of  busi 
ness,  you  would  find  decayed  gentlemen  who  were  his  pen- 


36  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

sioners  ;  and  to  them,  if  he  was  sometimes  haughty  to  his 
equals,  he  "  was  as  sweet  as  summer."  In  the  deep  snowa 
of  winter,  he  visited  every  humble  abode  of  poverty  in  his 
neighborhood  with  ample  supplies  of  fuel,  provisions,  and 
medicines,  when  it  was  wanted.  This  became  so  constant 
a  habit  with  him,  that  a  severe  storm  was  supposed  to  bring 
him  the  most  happy  moments.  He  was  as  liberal  to  chari 
table  institutions  as  to  literary  and  scientific.  If  the  ladies 
hud  any  project  on  foot,  he  was  high  on  the  list  of  thei? 
subscribers :  they  made  their  calculations  on  him. 

If  at  times  a  few  good  women  sighed  on  hearing  that  his 
dinner-parties  did  not  break  up  till  midnight,  they  instantly 
alluded  to  some  liberal  and  munificent  act  of  his,  and  strove 
to  cover  the  story  by  one  of  charity.  Such  was  his  elo 
quence,  that  he  was  frequently  called  upon  to  deliver  ad 
dresses  on  public  occasions  ;  as  such  was  the  purity  of  his 
sentiments  and  the  charms  of  his  language,  that  every  slight 
blast  on  his  reputation  among  these  primitive  and  fastidious 
people  with  whom  he  lived  was  washed  away  at  once.  At 
such  times,  all  eyes  turned  upon  the  orator  as  he  left  the 
Hall,  and  every  tongue  was  ready  to  bless  him  :  even  the 
antiquated  virgin,  who  had  often  talked  sharply  about  his 
gaiety,  his  love  of  wine,  and  his  syren  delusions,  seemed  at 
this  moment  subdued,  and  was  ready  to  say,  he  is  a  fasci 
nating  creature !  he  is  charming  enough  to  deceive  an 
angel ! 

At  this  time,  some  of  his  friends  who  loved  and  honored 
him,  ventured  to  suggest  to  him  that  it  was  now  proper  for 
him  to  settle  in  life,  and  become  a  domestic  man.  To  this 
he  listened  with  more  attention  than  they  thought  he  would. 
He  had  become  quite  pleased  with  a  young  lady  of  his  native 
town.  She  was  a  being  out  of  the  ordinary  course.  Heir 
person  resembled  the  best  model  of  female  statuary  :  sym- 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  37 

metry  and  grace  were  her's,  without  looking  with  the  eye 
of  a  lover.  Her  form  was  animated  by  no  stolen  fire  from 
heaven  ;  but  a  lambent  and  celestial  flame  seemed  to  light 
it  up  as  though  it  came  all  mildly  from  the  stars,  on  whose 
beams  come  blessings  to  mortals.  Her  movements  were  in 
harmony  with  this  thought,  and  she  walked  as  the  figure  of 
St.  Cecelia,  when  she  converted  the  heathen  priest  at  the 
altar,  with  her  air  and  motion,  as  she  approached  the  Chris 
tian  shrine.  Her  voice  was  finely  touched  with  the  tones 
of  a  bewitching  melancholy,  without  any  accent  of  anxiety 
or  distress  in  them.  Her  taste  and  temperament  would 
have  led  her,  if  she  had  lived  in  a  classic  age  and  country, 
to  have  enrolled  herself  among-  the  vestals.  Miss  Miranda 
Falmouth  had  been  educated  by  an  aunt — her  mother  dying 
when  she  was  an  infant.  This  aunt  was  a  woman  of  sense, 
and  well  acquainted  with  the  world.  She  was  attentive  to 
the  child  of  her  charge,  and  spared  no  pains  in  her  educa 
tion.  This  young  lady  was  in  the  circle  in  which  Hampton 
moved  :  she  had  heard  of  his  eloquence,  his  taste,  and  bene 
volence  ;  but  it  was  also  accompanied  with  some  hints  of 
his  gaiety.  The  major  was  advised  to  secure  her  if  he 
could — all  believing  that  such  a  woman  would  make  him 
an  exemplary  man  ;  and  intimated  that  she  should  be  ap 
proached  by  cautious  steps.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  make 
the  attempt — and,  as  preliminaries,  gave  up  his  dinner-par 
ties,  and  refrained  from  the  use  of  all  ardent  spirits.  In  a 
small  city,  this  change  of  habits  was  soon  made  known  to 
his  friends — but  only  a  very  few  knew  any  thing  of  his 
intentions.  There  was  a  small  society  formed  by  the  young 
ladies  of  the  place,  for  the  purpose  of  improving  their  minds 
by  reading  aloud,  in  turns,  some  work  of  celebrity  ;  for  this 
intent,  they  held  meetings  at  each  other's  houses.  Hampton 
had  a  magnificent  library,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving 

C2 


38  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

all  the  new  and  rare  works  from  England.     He  now-and- 
then  sent  some  of  the  choicest  of  his  importations  to  this  little 
coterie  for  their  amusement  and  instruction.     Miranda  be 
longed  to  this  club,  and  sometimes  could  not  help  expressing 
her  admiration  of  the  major's  taste.     One  of  Hampton's 
friends — a  scholar,  who  in  a  measure  directed  the  reading 
of  the  young  ladies,  most  of  them  being  his  friends  or  rela 
tions — was,  at  times,   invited  to  read  some  passages  which 
he  was  pleased  with  in  the  books  he  brought  them.     This 
might  have  been  done  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  major — 
and  soon  an  opportunity  offered.     Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake 
had  just  been  received  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  had 
been  read  only  by  a  few  in  advance  of  the  public  taste.     It 
was   so  managed,  that  the  book  and  its  owner  was  found 
in  the  little  circle  towards  the  close  of  one  of  their  evening 
sittings.     He  had  marked  the  striking  passages  of  the  work, 
and  read  them  with  great  effect.     He  was  requested  to  meet 
them  again — and  did,  until  the  work  was  finished.     It  was 
then  loaned  to  the  young  ladies,  to  be  read  to  their  friends* 
It  had  not  as  yet  been  published  in  this  country. 

This  book  was  followed  by  others — and  the  major  was 
frequently,  with  some  of  his  younger  friends,  found  reading 
to-  the  young  ladies.  In  the  autumn,  they  were  in  the  habit, 
after  the  manner  of  their  ancestors,  of  taking  pleasant  excur 
sions  to  some  neighboring  sea-shore,  to  walk  on  the  beach, 
and  enjoy  the  breeze,  as  it  came  with  health  and  freshness 
from  the  wave.  When  fatigued,  they  retired  lo  a  neighbor 
ing  public-house,  and  partook  of  a  supper,  and  early  in  the 
evening  retired  to  their  respective  habitations.  These  little 
pleasure-parties  were  conducted  by  managers  selected  for 
the  purpose,  in  order  that  there  should  be  no  partiality  shown. 
Those  who  were  to  occupy  the  same  carriage,  knew  nothing 
about  it  until  they  received  the  directions  from,  the  managers. 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  39 

The  major  was  now  considered  a  reformed  man — and 
mothers  cast  their  eyes  upon  him  as  an  eligible  match  for 
their  daughters.  When  the  regular  winter  assemblies 
began,  the  major  was  elected  Master  of  Ceremonies.  His 
attention  to  dress  and  all  proper  ceremonies,  united  to  his 
mild  and  courteous  deportment,  made  him  a  popular  manager 
in  the  ball-room.  He  commenced  the  season  with  new 
rules  and  more  exact  regulations.  The  dress  was  in  some 
measure  agreed  upon.  The  music  was  to  cease  precisely 
at  twelve  o'clock,  even  if  the  dance  had  just  been  called. 
No  ardent  spirits  were  to  be  furnished  in  the  refreshment  or 
the  supper-rooms.  The  major  paid  no  particular  attention 
to  reigning  belles,  but  sought  those  who  seemed  not  to  com- 
mand  their  ordinary  share  of  attention.  Miranda  Falmouth 
could  not  but  observe  this,  and  made  the  remark  to  her  aunt. 
While  they  were  in  conversation  on  the  subject,  the  master 
of  ceremonies  advanced,  and  asked  the  matron  to  dance  with 
him.  She  replied,  "  My  dancing  days  are  gone  ;  you  must 
excuse  me."  The  gallant  major  turned  to  Miranda,  and 
requested  her  to  dance.  The  dame's  eyes  said,  "Yes — 
you  may."  They  joined  the  cotillion.  When  supper  was 
announced,  he  led  the  aunt  to  the  room,  and  seated  her  at 
the  head  of  the  table  ;  the  niece  followed.  On  their  leaving 
the  ball-room,  he  was  attentive  in  seeing  that  their  wrappers 
and  hoods  were  at  hand,  and  the  way  to  their  carriage  clear. 
He  was  so  attentive  to  all,  that  this  was  not  thought  in  the 
slightest  degree  exclusive.  On  the  last  night  of  the  season 
for  the  assemblies,  the  gentry  of  the  neighboring  towns  were 
invited  to  attend.  The  hall  was  tastefully  decorated,  and 
the  supper-table  was  superb.  The  manager  closed  the 
season  on  the  10th  of  April,  which  he  knew  was  Miranda's 
birth-day.  She  had  then  completed  her  nineteenth  year. 
A  veteran  relation  from  a  distance  handed  the  aunt  to  the 


40  THE    INTEMPERATE- 

supper-table  with  the  courtesy  of  the  old  school  of  manners. 
The  major,  for  the  first  time  during  the  season,  offered  his 
arm  to  Miranda,  and  seated  her  by  the  side  of  her  aunt — 
and  to  both  was  particularly  attentive  ;  but  the  stranger 
engrossed  most  of  the  matron's  time,  for  he  was  conversing 
upon  the  pride  and  glory  of  past  times — a  subject  delightful 
to  those  who  approximate  "the  sear  and  yellow  leaf  of  life  :" 
with  them  there  is  no  scene  so  bright  as  that  which  gilded 
their  early  days.  The  manager  improved  his  opportunity, 
and  said  "  words  of  such  sweet  breath,"  that  Miranda  was 
unconscious  that  he  was  so  attentive.  The  room  was  deco 
rated  with  the  finest  paintings,  with  antique  busts,  and  other 
models  of  sculpture — a  part,  and  a  large  part  of  which  was 
from  the  manager's  own  rooms.  He  gave  his  opinions  upon 
all  matters  of  taste  with  the  most  snbmissive  and  delicate  air, 
but  at  the  same  time  with  a  consciousness  of  having  paid 
more  attention  to  the  subject  than  others  had  done.  The 
evening  closed  most  prosperously,  and  all  came  and  con 
gratulated  the  manager  on  the  success  of  all  the  amusements 
of  the  winter.  Even  those  antiquated  maidens  who  in  former 
times  closed  the  dance  with  some  bitter  remark  for  want  of 
attention,  were  forced  to  bear  testimony  to  the  manager's 
impartial  courtesy. 

On  May-day,  a  party  was  prepared  to  botanize  in  the 
woods  of  the  neighboring  farms.  It  was  a  fair  day,  but  there 
were  but  few  flowers  to  be  found  :  Nature  had  not  as  yet 
been  prolific  of  her  bounties;  but,  from  his  own  garden,  he 
had  prepared  garlands  of  flowers,  as  they  returned  to  tea, 
and  were  satisfied  with  their  rambles.  He  gave  them  a 
repast.  Miranda  was  there — and  it  was  now  seen  that  the 
major  had  made  no  small  progress  in  his  suit,  without  ven 
turing  hardly  a  word  on  the  subject  to  any  one  but  his  most 
intimate  friend  ;  in  fact,  it  seemed  to  be  conceded  on  all 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  41 

hands,  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  whenever  he  thought 
proper  to  prepare  himself.  The  28th  of  June  was  his  birth 
day — and  the  sagacious  aunt  of  his  favorite  knew  it ;  and 
a  few  days  beforehand,  she  sent  out  invitations  for  a  party 
at  her  country  house,  to  eat  strawberries  and  cream  on  that 
day.  The  major  was  in  a  straight — as  he  had,  for  the  first 
time  for  nearly  a  year,  invited  a  few  friends  to  dine  with 
him  ;  but  still,  he  could  not  refuse  to  accept  of  the  straw 
berry  invitation — for  he  saw  that  it  was  in  compliment  to 
him,  and  he  deeply  felt  it  as  such.  Fie  was  determined  to 
be  cautious,  and  to  restrain  his  convivial  feelings.  The  day 
arrived  ;  the  dinner  was  excellent,  and  his  guests  enjoyed 
themselves  to  the  highest  degree.  He  was  cautious  in  his 
conviviality,  and  only  sipped  his  wine  with  his  friends.  At 
six  o'clock  he  put  a  friend  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
ordered  his  gig  for  his  visit.  A  fine  shower  had  fallen  in 
the  afternoon,  while  he  and  his  friends  were  at  the  table. 
The  shower  had  just  passed  away — at  intervals  of  t.tme> 
raining  a  few  large  drops.  As  he  was  ascending  a  fine 
eminence,  he  turned  to  the  east,  and  observed  a  beautiful 
rainbow.  The  colors  were  most  brilliant ;  and  beyond  it 
still  another,  with  their  fading  tints,  sometimes  as  lovely  as 
the  first — for  the  eye  can  rest  upon  it  with  more  composure. 
He  dwelt  upon  these  phenomena  with  delight,  and  could  not 
help  hailing  their  brilliant  appearances  as  emblems  01'  his 
future  happiness.  He  said  to  himself,  "  The  Fates  have  at 
last  been  kind.  This  sign  is  set  in  the  heavens  to  dissipate 
my  fears,  and  to  promise  me  all  the  delights  of  wedded  love. 
Did  Adam  see  a  bow  in  Eden  ?"  He  continued  to  gaze  in 
ecstacy  until  the  sun  and  its  prismatic  lights  had  sunk 
together.  Flushed  with  this  augury,  as  he  thought  it,  he 
drove  on  to  meet  the  party.  He  was  perfectly  himself — 
in  a  fine  glow  of  spirits.  He  reached  the  house,  gave  his 


42  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

horse  to  the  servant,  and  adjusted  his  cravat  before  he 
entered  the  room  filled  with  ladies.  The  large,  old-fashioned 
hall,  in  which  they  were  assembled,  was  a  part  of  an  old 
mansion-house,  to  which  had  been  added  several  modern 
apartments,  elevated  above  the  ancient  part  by  two  steps. 
Not  knowing  this  fact,  the  major  entered  as  if  the  surface 
had  been  entirely  smooth,  and  made  a  false  step,  and  fell 
on  one  knee.  He  recovered  himself  instantly,  and,  as  a 
man  of  the  world,  made  light  of  the  circumstance,  and  turned 
to  compliment  the  ladies  with  his  usual  ease  and  grace. 
He  then  made  his  way  to  the  parson  of  the  parish,  and 
entered  fully  with  him  into  the  merits  of  some  polemic  mat- 
ters  then  being  published  by  several  gentlemen  of  professed 
erudition  and  no  ordinary  degree  of  genius.  He  glanced 
his  eves  towards  Miranda,  and  saw  that  she  was  as  pale  as 
death — and  her  female  friends  soon  led  her  out  of  the  room. 
This  came  over  him  as  a  death  blow — for  he  had  heard 
that  there  were  certain  old  maids  who  had  within  a  few  days 
been  attempting  to  persuade  Miranda  that  his  reformation 
was  not  to  be  relied  upon  ;  and  some  of  them  were  present 
when  he  made  the  mis-step,  and  turned  a  malignant  look 
at  her  on  the  occasion.  She  shrunk  from  the  basilisk  glance 
with  dismay.  This  was  too  much  for  her  delicate  nerves. 
The  envious  had  triumphed.  Miranda  at  once  returned 
home.  The  evening  went  off  pleasant  enough  to  all  appear 
ance,  notwithstanding,  and  the  major  did  everything  to  make 
the  party  happy.  Even  on  this  night,  all  but  the  malignant 
few  were  charmed  with  his  conversation.  The  parson  was 
delighted  to  find  a  layman  so  well  acquainted  with  the  strong 
points  of  the  religious  controversy.  The  major,  however, 
went  home  with  awful  forebodings.  The  next  forenoon 
he  received  a  letter  from  the  aunt  of  Miranda,  intimating 
that  his  visits  would  no  longer  be  received  at  her  house. 


THE   INTEMPERATE.  43 

He  called  on  his  friend  the  parson,   and  stated  the  whole 
matter  to  him,  and  asked  his  advice.     This  was  known  to 
others,  and  every  one  volunteered  his  service  to  do  away 
with  the  unjust  suspicion.     The  duty  was  most  affection- 
ately  performed.     All  declared  that  he  was  perfectly  sober. 
The  parson  added,  that,  several  years  previous  to  that  time, 
when  called  on  to  celebrate  a  marriage  in  the  same  hall,  that 
he  had  the  misfortune  to  make  just  such  a  mistake,  in  step 
ping  from  one  room  into  the  other — much  to  his  mortifica 
tion,  and  inconvenience  to  his  limbs  and  apparel.     The  aunt 
was  perfectly  satisfied,  but  at  the  same  time  observed,  that 
her  neice  was  in  ill  health,  and  if  the  mis-step  was  an  acci 
dent,   it  must  be  considered  at  the  same  time  a  sad  omen, 
and  one  that  should  teach  her  that  Major  Hampton  was  not 
to  be  her  husband.     The  story  soon  reached  the  public — 
and  the  little  sea- port  was  in  great  agitation.     Almost  every 
one  took  the  side  of  the  major — but   it  would  not  do ;    the 
poison  that  malignity  distilled,  envy  continued  to  concoct. 
Miranda  was  under  no  pledge,  and  therefore  broke  no  oath. 
The  vory  old  maids  who  had  made  the  mischief,  more  than 
insinuated  to  the  major's  friends  that  they  personally  should 
not  have  any  such  scruples  :  but  this  trick  would  not  answer  ; 
he  would  have  wed  a  bramble  as  soon  as  one  of  them.     For 
awhile  he  indulged  some   hopes  that  a  change  would  take 
place  in  Miranda's  mind  :  but  this  hope  was  illusory.     His 
mortification  was  so  great,  that  he  did  not  appear  in  public. 
His  heart  was  breaking.     In  a  few  months  he  arranged  his 
affairs,  made  his  will,  appointed  an  agent  to  manage  for  him 
in  his  absence,   and  fixed  upon  his  mode  of  supplies,  if  his 
funds  in  England  should  not  hold  out.     It  was  known  that 
he  had  some  unsettled  claims  in  South  America — and  the 
suggestion  was  circulated  that  he  had  gone  to  the  Brazils 
on  his  own  business.     Instead  of  going  to  South  America, 


44  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

he  repaired  from  one  of  the  southern  ports  of  his  own  coun 
try  directly  to  England,  by  the  name  of  Thomas  Carter — 
assuming  his  mother's  name,  which  he  considered  justifiable, 
and  quite  after  the  European  fashion. 

On  reaching  England,  he  was  introduced  to  the  first 
circles  of  taste  and  intelligence ;  and  such  was  his  power 
in  conversation  and  song,  that  his  company  was  sought  by 
the  leaders  in  high-bred  society.  His  information  was  greater 
than  those  they  had  seen  from  America,  and  he  had  much 
of  the  Englishman  in  his  manners. 

In  the  circle  to  which  Major  Hampton  was  introduced, 
were  some  of  the  first  minds  of  the  land.  He  soon  met  at  a 
dinner-party  the  celebrated  wits  of  the  time — among  whom 
was  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  who  was  even  then  "•  the 
observed  of  all  observers,"  for  at  that  time  his  infirmities 
were  generally  concealed.  By  one  of  those  accidents  which 
sometimes  happen  in  large  circles,  the  major  was  not  intro 
duced  to  the  British  senator,  but  they  had  some  knowledge 
of  each  other.  Hampton  very  well  knew  the  person  of 
Sheridan,  and  the  latter  had  heard  that  a  "  'cute  Yankee " 
would  dine  with  the  party  that  day — and  chance  placed 
them  nearly  opposite  each  other  at  table.  Sheridan  had 
paid  a  double  devotion  to  his  brandy  and  water  that  day, 
before  dinner  was  announced,  and  soon  began  to  throw  out 
those  flashes  of  wit  for  which  he  was  so  renowned — and, 
looking  at  the  major,  observed,  "I  presume,  sir,  that  I  am 
not  trespassing  upon  any  of  the  laws  of  the  convivial  board 
in  your  country  or  mine,  in  addressing  a  remark  to  you 
without  the  formality  of  an  introduction  ?"  The  major  po 
litely  bowed,  and  replied,  "  Sir,  I  come  here  into  society  to 
take  my  cue  from  older  actors  than  myself — not  to  give  it." 
"  A  little  touch  at  the  shop,"  thought  the  dramatist ;  but 
recovering,  and  assuming  that  smiling  courtesy  in  manner 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  45 

which  is  peculiar  to  one  half-way  gone  in  inebriation — 
"  Weil,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  told  that  you,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  water,  have  made  the  discovery,  that  civilized  man 
should  walk,  in  modern  fashion,  on  his  hind  legs  ?"  "  Yes," 
replied  the  major — "  we  have  really  in  theory  reached  this 
point  of  knowledge,  and  it  is  thought  to  be  the  most  graceful 
and  gentlemanly  way  of  getting  over  the  ground — and  we 
practise  it,  except  at  times  when  we  imitate  some  of  your 
Members  of  Parliament,  who  take  the  Circean  cup,  until, 
by  necessity,  they  must  go  on  all-fours,  or  not  at  all." 
The  voice  of  the  respondent  was  so  clear,  and  his  sentences 
so  pointed,  that  the  senator  quailed  beneath  them — but  soon 
rallied.  The  smile,  however,  was  against  him.  "  Pray, 
sir,1'  said  Sheridan,  "where  did  you  learn  the  English  lan 
guage  ? — you  seem  to  speak  it  pretty  well."  "  From  my 
mother,"  said  the  major — "  who  kept  out  of  sight  all  Irish 
dictionaries."  This,  Sheridan  felt  a  little  personal.  Chang 
ing  his  tone,  he  proceeded:  "I  understand  that  Edmund 
Burke  was  the  god  of  American  idolatry  ?"  "  Yes,"  said 
the  major — "  his  Treatise  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful  is 
held  in  high  estimation  in  my  country,  as  well  as  several 
other  of  his  works  :  his  Regicide  Peace,  and  his  Letter 
to  a  NoMe  Lord,  are  read  with  avidity  and  delight  in  my 
native  land  ;  and  he  might  have  been  still  greater  on  the  list 
than  he  is,  if  he  had  not  used  flattery  and  ever  strained 
language  in  praise  of  his  colleagues,  in  the  trial  of  Warren 
Hastings."  The  smile  now  became  a  loud  laugh  ;  the  wit 
was  disconcerted,  and  was  mortified  by  being  put  into  this 
situation  by  a  raw  Yankee,  as  he  thought  him.  He  made 
a  desperate  struggle  to  rally — and,  raising  his  voice  to  a  high 
pitch — as  men  often  do  who  feel  that  they  have  come  off 
second  best — said,  "  What  is  the  state  of  the  drama  in  your 
country,  for  I  suppose  that  you  may  have  seen  a  play  ?" 

D 


46  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  major — "  when  Hodgkinson  and  others  who 
visited  my  country,  enacted  Shakspeare's  tragedies,  I  some- 
times  attended  ;  but,  since  the  wretched  translations  of  Ger 
man  rhapsodies  have  taken  their  place,  I  have  had  no  great 
partiality  for  the  drama,  and  have  thought  that  when  senators 
meddle  with  these  matters,  that  parliamentary  eloquence  will 
decline."  The  roar  was  now  obstreperous,  and  "Sherry" 
was  silent — he  had  "  caught  a  Tartar  !"  The  wits  saw  the 
calibre  of  the  stranger — and  his  table  next  day  was  filled 
with  invitations  to  all  sorts  of  parties. 

In  a  few  days  he  met  Sheridan  again,  and  now  had  a 
regular  introduction.  The  orator  gave  the  American  a 
cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
Egad!  does  your  country  produce  men  such  as  you?"—— 
"  No,"  was  the  careless  reply — "  most  of  them  are  vastly 
my  superiors."  He  was  then  introduced  to  Tom  Moore, 
who  received  him  very  cordially.  The  major  did  not  un 
derstand  it — but  Moore  was  this  evening  pitted  against  him, 
and  at  supper  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  be  on  oppo 
site  sides  of  the  table,  near  each  other.  After  the  viands 
were  despatched,  and  the  wine  began  to  circulate,  Moore 
played  off  some  of  those  light  and  lovely  sallies  which  gave 
his  conversation  a  charm  above  that  of  most  other  persons  ; 
these  were  met  with  equal  power  and  courtesy.  They  were 
at  once  in  love  with  each  other,  and  no  one  could  set  them 
to  "the  encounter  of  sharp  wits."  Moore  was  soon  called 
upon  for  a  song — for  the  table  saw  at  once  they  were  not  to 
have  a  second  edition  of  the  Sheridan  dialogue.  He  gave 
one  of  his  own,  (of  which  he  had  a  store,)  of  more  Attic 
honey  than  Anacreon  himself  could  boast  of— and  beseemed 
to  address  his  remarks  to  his  new  friend  with  all  his  warmth 
of  soul.  The  major  was  next  called  upon  for  a  song  :  he 
declared  he  was  no  musician.  This  was  true,  if  he  spoke 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  47 

of  science  ;  but  his  voice  was  natural,  flexible,  and  sweet. 
He  was  pressed  by  all  around  him — for  they  wished,  pro 
bably,  to  hear  a  native's  measure,  thinking  it  might  be  in 
the  Cherokee  or  Seminole  language.  It  was  intimated  that 
an  aboriginal  song  would  be  most  acceptable.  "  Well,  gen 
tlemen,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  have  a  primitive  song."  He 
sung  a  foreign  ode :  some  thought  it  was  truly  Indian,  and 
were  astonished  to  find  how  much  Indian  sounded  like 
Greek !  The  classical  ear  of  Moore  caught  the  first  line  ; 
it  was  an  ode  from  Anacreon.  When  it  was  finished,  before 
Moore  had  an  opportunity  to  rise,  a  song  in  Sapphic  measure 
was  commenced  by  the  stranger — the  words  still  being 
Greek.  It  had  been  composed  by  a  learned  friend  of  the 
major's,  for  him  to  sing  at  a  classical  glee-club.  It  was  in 
praise  of  the  translation  of  Anacreon.  It  purported  to  be  a 
poetical  prophecy  of  the  Lesbian  dame — that  the  beauties 
of  her  god-tongued  Greek  should,  in  some  future  day,  when 
kingdoms  had  decayed,  and  the  glory  of  Greece  had  depart 
ed,  be,  by  a  bard  of  an  isle  in  the  Western  Ocean,  where 
the  horses  of  the  sun  went  down  to  rest,  infused  into  a  new 
born  language.  Moore  arose,  and  continued  standing  while 
it  was  singing  ;  and,  when  the  singer  ended,  returned  his 
thanks  to  the  major  in  the  most  heartfelt  manner.  Half  the 
guests  could  not  think  what  the  poet  was  about :  all  were 
astonished  when  Moore  went  on  to  say,  that  the  poetry  was 
as  divine  as  ever  the  Delphic  muse  had  inspired — uttered  in 
the  language  of  the  Attic  bee — and  sung  as  one  who  had  been 
taught  in  the  school  of  Apollo.  The  applause  was  deafen 
ing.  Moore  concluded  by  drinking  the  health  of  "the  all- 
accomplished  stranger."  The  major  arose,  and  returned 
his  thanks  for  the  high  honor  done  him,  in  a  strain  of 
eloquence  which  astonished  his  audience.  He  hastily,  but 
felicitously  sketched  the  history  and  progress  of  the  English 


48  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

language  from  the  days  of  Sir  Thomas  More  to  Shakspeare, 
Milton,  and  the  writers  in  the  days  of  Ann,  down  to  his  own 
time,  when  orators  and  poets  in  Britain  were  earning  the 
amaranthine  wreath  of  glory  :  and,  notwithstanding  the  dia 
logue  that  had  passed  between  himself  and  Sheridan,  he 
placed  the  orator  among  the  great  names  of  antiquity.  He 
was  interrupted  by  repeated  bursts  of  applause,  which  were 
followed  by  that  silence  in  which  breath  and  motion  seemed 
to  be  suspended.  He  showed  that  England's  poets  and  great 
men  were  familiar  to  him  as  those  of  his  own  country.  Ne 
ver  did  any  man  make  a  deeper  impression  on  his  audience. 
Sheridan  declared  that  he  had  heard  Chatham,  and  all  the 
great  speakers  of  the  age  since,  and  that  he  had  never  heard 
this  day's  eloquence  surpassed. 

The  major  threw  himself  on  his  couch  as  soon  as  he  left 
the  convivial  board,  with  a  high  fever  in  his  veins,  from  hig 
extraordinary  exertions.  He  felt  that  he  was  an  orator  ; 
but  he  carried  the  arrow  in  his  wounded  side,  and  no  hand 
could  draw  the  barbed  weapon  by  which  his  peace  had  been 
slain.  This  was  a  secret  to  all  his  new  acquaintances'; 
they  thought  him  the  happiest  man  alive.  With  fortune, 
health,  genius,  and  the  accomplishments  of  a  finished  gentle 
man,  what  could  be  added  ?  They  could  not  see,  that,  with 
all  these  blessings,  he  carried  with  him  a  vulture  which  was 
preying  upon  his  vitals.  In  the  pride  of  his  fame  he  envied 
the  humblest  wretch  he  saw.  What  was  the  fame  of  an 
orator  to  him  ? 

Among  those  he  was  introduced  to  was  Lieut.  General 
Sir  John  Moore,  at  that  time  an  object  of  admiration  in  Eng. 
land.  Nelson  had  fallen,  and  Pitt  and  Fox  were  sleeping 
side  by  side  in  their  quiet  graves  in  Westminster  Abbey ; 
and  Sir  John  now  stood  first  in  the  eyes  of  an  admiring  nation. 
His  life  had  been  an  eventful  one  ;  he  had  entered  the  army 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  40 

at  fifteen  years  of  age  ;  had  served  in  the  West  Indies  with 
such  gallantry,  that  he  was  appointed  governor  of  one  of  the 
islands  in  that  region.  He  was  with  Abercrombie  when  he 
fell  in  Egypt,  in  the  arms  of  victory.  Sir  John  had  also 
served  in  Sweden  and  other  places,  and  had  won  laurels 
wherever  he  fought.  He  had  the  scars  of  many  honorable 
wounds  to  show  ;  but  his  modesty  was  equal  to  his  prowess. 
Sir  John  was  spirited  and  witty  in  conversation,  and  loved 
the  company  of  high-bred  men.  He  had  just  been  appointed 
to  the  command  of  the  army  of  the  Peninsula  in  Spain — as 
the  British  had  agreed  to  assist  Spain,  struggling  to  get  free 
from  the  withering  grasp  of  France.  He  found  that  Major 
Hampton  was  a  soldier,  and  had  studied  his  profession,  but  had 
no  chance  to  see  dangerous  service — and  ventured  to  suggest 
to  him,  that  he  should  be  happy  to  accept  of  his  service  as  a 
volunteer  aid.  This  was  readily  acceded  to  by  the  major — 
not  from  the  love  of  military  renown,  but  as  a  palliation  of 
mental  pain.  In  the  autumn  of  1808,  he  proceeded,  by 
forced  marches,  into  the  interior,  to  meet  the  French  under 
Bonaparte.  Sir  John  was  every  day  expecting  a  large 
Spanish  force  to  join  him — but  no  such  force  came,  although 
the  British  Ambassador  was  constantly  promising  Sir  John 
that  it  should  come  forthwith.  After  marching  an  hundred 
miles  or  more  in  the  interior,  and  discovering  that  the  French 
army  was  three  times  as  large  as  the  English,  he  made  up 
his  rnind  to  retrace  his  steps  to  the  sea  coast,  and  from  thence, 
by  the  aid  of  his  fleet,  to  land  on  the  south  of  Spain,  where 
the  supplies  for  his  army  could  be  more  easily  obtained,  with 
a  better  chance  of  raising  a  Spanish  army.  When  this  was 
fixed  upon  by  Sir  John  Moore,  Marshal  Soult  commanded 
the  French  forces.  He  had  been  left  by  Bonaparte  to  lead 
on  the  French  army.  He  was  an  excellent  general,  with 
a  fine  body  of  troops.  There  is  always  great  confusion 

D  a 


SO  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

in  a  retrogading  army — most  of  which  was  caused  in  this 
by  the  facilities  the  soldiers  had  to  purchase  liquors  from 
the  natives.  Hundreds  of  poor  intoxicated  wretches  fell  by 
the  swords  of  the  enemy,  without  lifting  a  hand  to  resist. 
From  the  time  Sir  John  had  ordered  the  retreat,  until 
he  reached  the  seaboard,  he  was  constantly  fighting. — 
The  major  was  the  most  active  and  fearless  officer  on  the 
field.  He  volunteered  to  perform  the  most  desperate  enter- 
prizes,  and  his  cool  and  judicious  manner  excited  the  admi 
ration  of  the  whole  army.  He  commanded  the  grenadiers 
when  Colbert,  a  most  gallant  French  officer,  was  killed, 
and  whose  fate  was  regretted  by  the  whole  British  army — 
for  he  was  as  magnanimous  as  brave. 

On  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Corunna,  the  major  was  more 
exposed  than  any  other  officer — for  he  carried  the  orders  of 
the  commander-in.chief  from  one  part  of  the  army  to  an 
other.  Hope,  Berresford,  and  Bayard,  took  notice  of  his 
gallant  bearing  on  that  memorable  day.  He  had  just  re 
turned  from  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  to  inform  Sir  John  that 
the  French  army  were  retreating,  when  the  fatal  cannon- 
ball  struck  the  general  in  the  breast.  The  ball  had  struck 
the  earth — rebounded,  passing  over  the  major's  head — and 
then  did  its  deed  of  death  upon  the  illustrious  general.  The 
wound,  terrible  as  it  was,  having  torn  his  shoulder  from  the 
body  of  the  victim,  was  not  instantly  mortal.  Sir  John  was 
borne  off  the  field,  supported  by  the  sashes  of  the  officers 
around  him,  and  expired  after  a  few  hours,  with  serenity 
and  firmness,  in  the  citadel.  Like  Wolfe,  he  heard  the 
shouts  of  victory  before  he  expired.  He  was  buried  by 
torch- light,  in  a  mound  of  the  fortress,  wrapt  in  his  military 
cloak,  in  a  grave  dug  with  bayonets.  It  was  indeed  a 
melancholy  sight ;  all  were  solemn :  but  there  stood  one 
over  his  grave  who  envied  him  his  quiet  resting  place^  and 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  51 

his  glorious  exit,  and  narrow  bed ;  one  who  had  that  day 
sought  death  in  every  form  of  danger — but  not  a  hair  of  his 
head  had  fallen  : — it  was  the  major.  When  dying,  Sir  John 
had  recommended  his  American  friend  to  the  British  Go- 
vernment ;  but,  the  praises  bestowed,  he  never  meant  to  use 
as  a  matter  of  court  favor. 

The  greater  part  of  the  army  embarked  that  night,  and 
the  major  was  with  them.  He  seemed  to  have  but  one  wish, 
and  that  was,  to  save  his  Andalusian  courser,  who  had  borne 
him  with  spirit  and  safety  during  the  whole  day,  without 
a  wound,  or  without  a  spur  to  urge  him  onward.  He  had 
caught  his  master's  spirit,  and  was  shielded  by  his  master's 
good  fortune,  and  received  no  harm. 

The  army  wept  the  fate  of  their  general — and  the  chief  of 
the  French  army  at  once  erected  a  monument  on  the  spot 
to  the  memory  of  a  consummate  general ;  and  the  sweetest 
muse  has  mourned  his  untimely  fate  in  the  loveliest  inspi 
rations  of  grief — but  his  countrymen  have  not  as  yet  given 
him  a  monument  in  Westminster  Abbey.  How  uncertain 
is  fame  ! — when  Charles  I.  is  called  "  of  blessed  memory?" 
and  the  day  of  his  execution  set  apart  for  religious 
ceremonies — and  Sir  John  Moore  is  denied  a  monument  in 
Westminster  Abbey  !  The  process  of  justice  is  going  on 
in  the  region  of  history  :  names  of  glory  now  are  to  be  sunk 
in  infamy,  and  those  who  have  been  under  a  cloud  are  com 
ing  up.  The  writers  of  the  present  day  are  doing  justice  to 
those  great  men  of  the  time  of  the  Commonwealth.  In  that 
day  there  were  men  who  acted  upon  higher  principles  than 
they  have  been  thought  to  have  acted  :  they  intended  to 
give  freedom  to  man,  and  set  an  example  for  the  world. 
This,  no  matter  :  justice  to  them  in  their  graves  may  be 
late  ;  but  if  certain,  it  is  enough. 

While  the  major  was  living  in  his  native  town,  he  had  in 


52  THE    INTEMPERATE'., 

his  service  a  colored  man  who  had  been  a  slave  in  the  West 
Indies,  but  came  to  the  United  States  with  his  master — who, 
in  his  last  will  and  testament,  gave  Clement  his  freedom. 
Before  the  major  took  his  departure,  he  gave  his  faithful 
servant  the  lease  of  a  small  house  for  ten  years.  Clement 
had  noticed  his  master's  movements,  and  did  not  believe  a 
word  of  the  story  that  he  was  gone  to  South  America.  He 
followed  him  to  New  York — and  from  all  the  circumstances 
he  could  gather,  believed  that  he  had  sailed  for  England. 
In  London,  Clem,  found  the  major,  and  they  had  quite  a 
joyous  meeting.  The  major  was  a  man  who  delighted  in 
strong  attachments.  Clem,  followed  the  major  into  Spain, 
and  was  there  of  great  service  to  him — for  his  old  master 
had  been  in  all  the  battles  fought  in  St.  Domingo  when  it 
was  revolutionized,  and  understood  his  duty  in  a  camp  as 
well  as  any  one.  Clem,  had  been  seen  about  an  hour  before 
he  was  missed  on  the  day  of  the  battle,  but  was  not  to  be 
found  when  the  firing  ceased.  His  absence  distressed  the 
major — and  he  took  several  boys  with  torches  to  examine 
the  battle  field,  to  find  Clem,  alive  or  dead.  The  scene  was 
more  awful  than  the  battle  ;  the  dead  and  dying  were  strewed 
over  the  ground  and  in  every  nook  of  the  rocks.  Some 
were  just  expiring,  and  seemed  to  throw  the  last  glare  of 
their  stiffened  eye-balls  on  the  torches  as  they  were  borne 
along.  At  length  one  of  the  boys  cried  out,  "  Major  ! — 
there  is  a  black  man  on  the  rocks  yonder,  holding  a  corpso 
in  his  arms  !"  It  was  Clem.  In  passing  over  the  field 
towards  the  close  of  the  battle,  he  saw  the  son  of  his  old 
master  in  the  West  Indies,  weltering  in  his  blood,  on  the 
ground,  and  near  him  was  his  dead  horse.  Clem,  had  car- 
ried  him  to  this  retreat,  and  brought  him  water  to  revive  him. 
The  wounded  officer  and  the  faithful  African  were  brought 
to  the  citadel.  The  young  French  officer  had  bled  pro* 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  53 

fusely,  but  his  wound  was  not  dangerous.  When  the  British 
army  left  the  coast,  the  major  wrote  to  Marshal  Soult,  and 
stated  the  circumstances  under  which  he  found  Leclerc,  (the 
name  of  the  French  officer,)  and  requested  him  to  send  his 
servant  to  England  when  the  officer  should  no  longer  need 
his  services.  In  six  or  eight  weeks  Clem,  arrived  with 
presents  from  the  officer,  and  with  an  open  letter,  answering 
at  once  as  a  passport  and  as  a  high  recommendation — for  it 
stated  his  services.  The  major's  gallantry  in  the  field  had 
been  noticed  by  Soult,  and  Clem,  was  with  him  most  of  the 
day. 

When  the  Major  reached  England,  he  found  his  name 
blazoned  through  all  the  land.  Sheridan  mentioned  his 
American  friend  in  one  of  his  speeches,  and  seemed  at  a  loss 
which  to  admire  most,  his  literary  taste,  or  his  martial  prow*. 
ess.  The  lord  Mayor  had  him  placed  at  his  right  hand  at 
an  aldermanic  dinner.  As  he  drove  through  several  small 
towns  in  England,  which  he  took  occasion  to  visit,  the  driver 
who  had  seen  him  in  London,  whispered  to  the  bystanders, 
that  they  had  a  chance  of  seeing  the  man  who  had  whipped 
the  French  so  the  other  day,  and  at  times  he  was  much  an 
noyed  by  his  notoriety  ;  and,  with  a  mind  even  less  at  ease 
than  when  he  first  visited  England,  he  was  anxious  to  see 
such  parts  of  Europe  as  might  be  visited  at  that  time  in  safety. 
He  had  mistaken  the  nature  of  the  passion,  when  he  sought 
to  quench  the  flame  of  love  by  cherishing  a  thirst  for  glory, 
it  were  as  vain  as  to  throw  the  spirits  of  wine  on  a  flame  of 
fire  to  drown  it. 

His  friends  who  were  now  numerous,  devised  the  best 
way  for  him  to  travel,  this  was  done  through  the  diplomatic 
corps  then  in  England.  Provided  with  all  passports,  he  as- 
sumed  the  dress  of  an  officer  of  the  Imperial  Guards,  and 
was  soon  on  his  way  to  Rome.  The  Austrian  Ambassador 


54  THE  INTEMPERATE. 

had  given  him  a  protection,  arid  a  letter  to  Cardinal  Gonsal- 
vi  by  the  title  of  Major  Rosencrantz.  The  Cardinal  receiv 
ed  him  kindly,  and  promised  him  safety  while  he  remained 
at  Rome.  This  was  pleasant,  as  he  intended  to  make  Rome 
a  residence  for  a  year  or  two,  and  with  this  intention  he  took 
a  house  and  provided  himself  with  servants;  but  Clem,  was 
still  his  right  hand  man.  The  Major  at  once  employed  a 
master  to  teach  him  the  Italian  language.  His  acquaintance 
with  Latin  and  French  greatly  facilitated  his  progress.  He 
was,  in  moments  of  leisure,  examining  all  the  curiosities 
of  the  Eternal  City.  By  the  friends  he  had  at  Rome,  the 
Vatican  and  all  public  places  were  made  quite  familiar  to 
him.  His  master  in  the  Italian  language  was  also  one  of 
the  cognocenti,  and  some  one  of  his  female  friends  was  so 
kind  as  to  be  his  Corrine  when  he  happened  to  meet  a 
social  circle,  and  express  his  wish  to  visit  any  particular 
place.  Almost  every  day  he  saw  some  American  on  his 
travels  ;  these  American  travellers  make  nothing  in  ascend, 
ing  mountains  and  crossing  rivers  ;  they  make  a  grand  tour 
as  rapidly  as  Southey  wrote  his  epic,  the  JOAN  OF  ARC,  in 
six  weeks.  The  Major  although  perfectly  in  cog.,  managed 
to  have  most  of  them  at  his  table.  He  put  numerous  ques 
tions  to  all  of  them,  and  was  amused  at  their  answers  on 
subjects  which  he  was  well  acquainted.  He  had  been  en 
gaged  during  his  stay  in  Rome,  in  collecting  a  gallery  of 
fine  paintings,  in  which  he  was  greatly  assisted  by  some  of 
the  Italian  ladies.  He  intended  that  this  collection  should  in 
some  future  day  be  sent  to  his  native  land,  whether  he  should 
ever  see  it  or  not.  The  Cardinal  Gonsalvi  was  delighted 
with  the  English  language,  and  had  made  great  proficiency 
in  it,  but  wished  to  catch  the  grace  of  colloquial  eloquence, 
and  delighted  with  the  Major's  conversation,  he  saw  him  as 
often  as  his  duties  would  permit  him  to  do.  The  learned 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  55 

and  exalted  dignitary  of  the  church  had  just  begun  to  relish 
the  beauties  of  Shakspeare  ;  here  the  Major  was  at  home, 
but  few  understood  the  author  better,  and  no  one  could  read 
him  so  well.  In  these  Attic  intercourses  the  dignitary  forgot 
his  honors,  and  was  only  the  learned  and  agreeable  man. 
In  one  of  these  familiar  conversations,  Gonsalvi  made  these 
remarks  :  "  these  plays  are  a  mighty  engine  in  the  moral 
and  political  world,  for  whenever  a  people  become  fond  of 
Shakspeare,  they  are  more  than  half  Englishmen,  and  in 
training  for  the  adoption  of  their  constitution  and  their  laws  ; 
if  ever  the  Church  of  Rome  is  to  be  undermined,  it  will  be 
done  by  the  writings  of  Shakspeare.  He  lived  in  an  age  of 
apostacy,  and  here  in  disguise,  opposed  the  subtleties  of  rea 
son,  to  the  cannon  of  the  church.  One  of  his  plays  is  more 
dangerous  than  ten  religious  attacks  upon  us  from  protestant 
divines.  We  are  prepared  for  them  on  all  hands  ;  but  such 
attacks  as  Shakspeare  made,  are  difficult  to  parry." 

One  day  as  t'.e  Major  was  gazing  upon  the  crumbling 
walls  of  the  Colliseum,  where  the  cows  now  grazed,  reflect, 
ing  on  the  fall  of  empires,  and  on  the  constancy  of  change, 
he  heard  several  voices  in  conversation  in  the  are  i  of  this 
immense  edifice.  The  tones  of  some  of  the  voic  s  seemed 
distressingly  familiar.  He  turned  and  saw  several  of  his 
American  friends,  and  among  them  was  Miranda  Falmouth, 
and  her  aunt.  The  Colliseum  swam  around  in  his  vision, 
and  he  sat  on  a  fragment  of  the  walls  to  recall  his  bewilder 
ed  senses.  He  was  fearful  at  first  that  he  should  be  known 
to  the  group,  but  recollecting  his  military  dress,  his  large 
black  whiskers,  and  his  wig  many  shades  darker  than  his 
own  hair,  he  plucked  up  courage  and  threw  himself  in  their 
way,  and  began  a  conversation  with  the  American  gentle 
man,  into  which  the  ladies  were  imperceptably  drawn.  The 
Major  with  his  accustomed^  gallantry,  offered  the  aunt  his 


56  THE  INTEMPERATE. 

arm,  which  was  readily  accepted,  as  the  fame  of  the  Aus 
trian  stranger  was  in  every  public  house  in  Rome,  and  his 
attention  to  American  travellers  had  been  particularly  no 
ticed  ;  in  truth,  the  party  had  been  looking  for  him  for  sev 
eral  days.  Miranda  several  times  looked  as  pale  as  death, 
when  she  thought  how  much  the  tones  of  the  gallant  Aus 
trian's  voice  resembled  those  of  her  once  admired  friend 
Hampton,  and  then  she  thought  that  it  was  all  imagination. 
Some  mutual  acquaintances  met  the  party  and  they  had  a 
formal  introduction  to  each  other,  which  was  followed  by  a 
proposition  from  the  Major  to  permit  him  to  accompany  them 
to  the  Vatican  next  day,  and  after  the  visit  was  over  to 
dine  with  him  ;  this  was  at  once  accepted  by  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  as  the  Austrian's  character  was  so  well  known. 
The  next  morning's  sun  arose,  and  the  Major  called  on  the 
ladies  and  all  went  to  examine  the  works  of  the  great  mas 
ters  in  painting  in  past  ages.  The  aunt  had  relinquished  in 
some  degree  the  particular  attention  paid  her  by  the  stranger 
in  favor  of  her  neice.  Thd  mysterious  resemblance  of  the 
voice  of  her  once  dear  friend,  to  that  of  the  Austrian  officer 
was  still  in  her  ears,  and  she  breathed  an  unconcious  sigh, 
which  did  not  pass  unnoticed.  Their  size  was  about  the 
same,  but  on  further  examination  she  came  to  the  con 
clusion  that  the  Austrian  was  more  stately,  the  American 
was  more  graceful.  The  merits  of  the  paintings  were  dis 
cussed  by  the  Austrian  to  the  delight  of  all.  He  gave  the 
history  of  the  picture,  with  anecdotes  of  the  painter,  with 
as  much  ease  and  eloquence  as  one  bred  in  the  bosom 
of  the  arts ;  here  Miranda  thought  all  parallel  would  fail. 
The  library  was  as  attractive  as  the  pictures  ;  the  illumined 
manuscripts  ;  the  splended  volumes  from  the  Aldine  presses, 
with  all  the  charms  of  vellum  and  type  passed  in  review, 
until  the  hour  for  dinner  was  announced  by  the  African  in 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  57 

full  Austrian  livery.  The  moment  he  appeared,  the  aunt 
was  struck  with  his  resemblance  to  Clem,  who  had  been  a 
servant  in  her  family  for  many  years,  but  there  was  not  the 
slightest  look  of  recognition  on  his  part,  of  course  she  smiled 
at  her  own  fancies.  When  seated  at  table,  the  aunt  found 
just  such  a  dinner  as  she  would  have  ordered  for  a  particular 
friend  ;  the  roasted  veal,  the  soup,  the  curried  chicken,  and 
the  marsh  bird,  all  seemed  as  on  her  own  table.  The  con- 
versation  at  table,  after  the  subjects  of  England  and  the 
Continent  were  exhausted,  turned  upon  the  United  States  of 
America.  The  master  of  the  feast  appeared  well  read  in 
American  history,  but  misunderstood  some  of  the  geogra 
phy  of  the  country.  Among  other  things,  he  quoted  an 
Italian  writer,  who,  speaking  of  the  rivers  Merrimack,  and 
Connecticut,  in  New  England,  says,  "  these  rivers  like  twin 
swans  from  the  same  nest,  hold  their  course  to  the  ocean,  and 
mingle  their  waters  with  those  of  the  mother  of  the  floods, 
within  a  few  miles  of  each  other."  Miranda  smiling  replied, 
"  it  seems  wrong  to  destroy  the  beauty  of  the  figure  by  tel 
ling  the  truth  ;  but  they  arise  far  from  each  other,  and  join 
the  ocean  more  than  an  hundred  and  fifty  miles  apart." 
The  history  of  the  Government  was  another  topic  of  discus 
sion,  and  some  singular  points  were  stated  by  the  host,  for 
which  he  had  day  and  date  ;  but,  his  guests  insisted  were 
errors — now  fully  explained.  Nothing  could  exceed  their 
astonishment,  when  the  Austrian  officer  mentioned  Cotton 
Mather  as  among  the  early  American  novelists  ;  one,  he 
thought,  of  great  learning  and  of  a  most  brilliant  imagina 
tion.  He  said  that  Mather  was  admirable  in  drawing  char 
acters,  and  that  his  invention  was  but  little  inferior  to  that  of 
the  English  Shakspeare  in  the  supernatural  world.  The 
whole  machinery  of  the  New  England  witchcraft,  he  declared 
to  be  finely  conceived  and  admirably  carried  out.  He  how- 

E 


58  THE  INTEMPERATE. 

ever  thought  that  burning  at  the  stake,  would  have  bees 
more  epic  than  vulgar  hanging  ;  but  he  supposed  that  hang 
ing  was  more  in  keeping  with  the  age,  and  that  the  reason 
that  they  suffered  on  the  gallows  was  the  same  as  that  given 
by  one  of  the  great  crown  lawyers  of  England  for  this  mode 
of  punishment  by  suspension — that  is,  men  who  were  not  fit 
for  this  world,  or  another,  should  be  suspended  between 
heaven  and  earth.  Miranda  smiled,  but  her  aunt  a  very 
well  informed  woman  attempted  to  explain  the  whole  matter, 
to  which  he  lent  the  most  devout  attention,  and  seemed  to 
enter  with  great  pleasure  into  the  explanation*  He  had  be 
fore  conceived  the  whole  as  a  mass  of  fiction,  and  was  sur 
prized  on  finding  it  a  matter  of  veritable  history.  The  guests 
were  not  a  little  surprised  that  one  who  had  lived  so  long  in 
England,  as  this  Austrian  was  said  to  have  been  there,  should 
with  his  good  sense  have  taken  up  such  wild  and  errone 
ous  impressions ;  but  since  she  had  come  from  America, 
the  aunt  had  before  found  that  the  English  people  were  in 
many  errors  in  regard  to  her  own  country. 

The  conversation  now  turned  upon  the  revolutionary  strug 
gle,  on  this  subject  the  Austrian  was  quite  at  home.  The  ma 
tron  had  been  the  wife  of  an  actor,  and  a  distinguished  one 
in  that  great  event,  and  she  spoke  feelingly  and  eloquently 
on  the  subject.  Miranda  was  silent,  but  was  delighted  to 
hear  one  so  far  from  her  native  land,  so  deeply  interested  in 
her  country's  history.  The  character  of  Washington  came 
upon  the  tapis,  and  the  Austrian  did  ample  justice  to  the 
merits  of  that  great  man  ;  he  placed  his  valor,  his  skill  in 
military  strategy,  in  a  proper  light,  but  above  all  his  Fabian 
wisdom  in  the  whole  course  of  his  military  life.  He  then 
adverted  to  the  American  Congress,  and  descanted  upon  the 
abilities  of  the  members,  touching  with  a  nice  and  delicate 
discrimination  the  peculiar  merits  of  the  deceased  statesman 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  59 

who  had  been  the  husband  of  the  matron  before  him  ;  she 
looked  a  thousand  thanks,  but  dared  not  trust  herself  to  ex 
press  one  of  them.  The  manners,  customs,  and  character 
ofthe  American  people,  were  in  turn  brought  forward  and 
discussed  by  the  Austrian,  with  honorable  feelings,  and  with 
military  brevity.  The  guests  were  astonished  at  his  gen- 
eral  information,  while  they  were  amused  at  the  incorrectness 
of  some  of  the  sources  of  his  information. 

The  next  day  a  party  on  horseback  was  proposed  ;  Mi. 
randa  rode  elegantly.  The  Austrian  asked  permission  to 
find  a  horse  for  the  young  lady,  for  he  had  one  he  knew 
would  suit  her.  The  aunt  took  a  carriage.  The  Andalu- 
sion  courser,  who  had  bourn  the  gallant  officer  in  his  Span 
ish  campaign,  had  been  brought  to  Rome,  and  now  was  ca 
parisoned  with  an  English  side-saddle,  found  among  the  Eng 
lish  families  in  the  city.  The  animal  was  as  gentle  as  spirit 
ed,  obedient  to  his  master's  voice  in  every  situation.  The 
Austrian  rode  a  cream  colored  charger  ;  they  rode  around 
the  city  and  along  the  banks  ofthe  Tiber,  and  were  the  ad- 
miration  ofthe  population.  The  Austrian  gave  the  whole 
cavalcade  a  minute  history  ofthe  several  places,  both  an 
cient  and  modern.  They  visited  the  tombs  of  the  Scipios, 
and  others  ofthe  mighty  dead,  who  had  the  honor  of  being 
buried  on  the  road  side.  Miranda  was  charmed  with  her 
ride ;  the  Andalusian  behaved  with  all  possible  spirit,  gen 
tleness,  and  obedience ;  he  seemed  to  know  that  his  mas 
ter's  feeling  were  in  the  case.  The  rider  felt  no  fatigue, 
and  as  she  dismounted,  the  officer  made  her  a  proffer  of  his 
horse,  whenever  she  might  want  to  ride.  An  accident  trans 
pired  which  had  well  nigh  led  to  a  disclosure  ;  the  Major 
pushed  his  horse,  then  a  little  restive,  over  a  fragment  of  a 
column,  which  was  done  so  furiously,  that  his  wig  had  near 
ly  fell  from  his  head.  They  returned  after  the  day's  amuse- 


60  THE  INTEMPERATE. 

ment  to  an  elegant  supper,  or  rather  dinner;  they  had  par' 
taken  of  light  refreshments  several  times  during  the  day,  but 
had  not  set  down  to  any  regular  meal.  The  banquet 
was  in  first  Italian  style ;  the  covers  were  numerous,  and 
shone  by  the  lights  of  an  hundred  lamps  ;  one  would  have 
thought  that  Lucullus  had  come  back  to  Rome  to  sup  with 
Lucullus.  The  light  wines  of  Italy  flowed  like  water,  and 
Miranda  noticed  how  sparingly  the  host  drank.  Oh  ?  thought 
she,  could  the  too  indulgent  Hampton  have  been  so  abstime- 
ous,  we  should  now  have  been  a  happy  couple.  A  band  of 
music  was  playing  while  the  guests  were  at  table  ;  the  host 
gave  them  a  toast :  "  The  United  States,  and  its  enlightened 
inhabitants."  The  music  instanly  struck  up  "Hail  Colum 
bia,"  and  followed  with  the  national  air  of"  Yankee  Doodle," 
which  the  host  accompanied  with  his  voice.  The  unexpect 
ed  compliment  was  received  with  transport.  Instantly  a 
German  March  succeeded,  not  giving  the  guests  time  to 
reason  on  the  subject.  After  his  guests  had  retired,  the 
Major  threw  himself  on  his  bed  in  a  paroxysm  of  feeling  ; 
he  had  acted  his  part  all  day  with  the  greatest  effort,  and 
when  the  scene  was  over  he  could  not  contain  himself,  or 
remain  master  of  his  feelings.  At  one  moment  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  go  and  throw  himself  at  Miranda's  feet,  confess 
all,  and  implore  her  to  save  him  ;  but  instantly  his  pride 
arose  to  condemn  such  a  step,  for  he  would  rather  have  died 
an  hundred  deaths  than  to  have  a  second  refusal ;  and  there 
were  again  moments  when  he  had  lashed  himself  to  high  re 
sentment  at  what  he  thought  his  ill  treatment !  that  he  was 
not  certain  he  would  marry  her  if  every  obstacle  was  re 
moved  ;  then  followed  a  gush  of  salt  tears,  and  sleepless 
ness  and  feverish  dreams.  One  image  of  despair  chased 
another,  until  the  day  shone  all  lovely  upon  his  aching  head 
and  broken  heart.  There  is  something  in  daylight  that 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  61 

soothes  the  wretched.  Apollo  was  wisely  called  by  the  sa 
gacious  ancients,  the  healing  god,  for  his  rays  send  a  sum 
mer  feeling  to  the  heart,  which  is  a  wonderful  medicine  in 
the  maladies  of  the  mind,  and  no  where  is  his  reign  so  per 
fect  as  in  the  Italian  skies.  The  Americans  were  now  ma 
king  ready  for  their  departure  for  Venice.  One  of  the  gen 
tlemen  was  a  brother  to  Miranda,  a  merchant  much  older 
than  herself;  he  had  sent  a  ship  to  Smyrna  and  ordered  her 
to  come  to  Venice  to  take  him  and  his  party  to  the  United 
States.  The  time  had  now  nearly  arrived  when  she  might 
be  expected,  and  they  were  anxious  not  to  keep  her  waiting 
when  she  did  arrive.  The  Major  understanding  this,  pro 
vided  them  with  suitable  conveyance  to  that  city,  and  pro 
posed  to  accompany  them  himself,  which  proposition  was 
hailed  as  a  new  proof  of  his  kindness.  He  left  his  African  in 
his  house,  and  took  an  Italian  servant.  The  journey  was  ta 
ken  with  leisure,  as  is  common  in  that  country,  not  as  in  Eng 
land  or  the  United  States,  with  all  the  fury  of  Jehu.  They 
were  beguiled  of  thetediousness  of  the  way  by  free  conver 
sation.  Still  careful  of  speaking  of  French  politics,  for  Gon- 
salvi  intimated  to  the  Major  that  every  servant  in  Rome  was 
a  French  spy.  They  reached  Venice  without  accident,  but 
the  ship  had  not  yet  arrived  ;  but  within  a  week  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner  was  seen  floating  on  the  breeze  of  Venice. 
On  their  arrival,  they  lost  no  time  in  examining  the  city. 
Venice  offered  much  for  curiosity,  and  something  for  in 
struction.  The  city  makes  a  spirited  appearance  at  a  dis 
tance,  it  seems  to  have  arisen  from  a  sea  of  glass  ;  the  large 
buildings  seem  to  have  no  foundation  on  earth.  The  city 
stands  on  numerous  small  islands,  and  every  guide  differed 
as  to  the  precise  number  ;  they  are  saiid  to  be  from  sixty  to 
one  hundred  and  sixty  eight.  Some  oft  he  numerous  canals 
are  narrow,  others  are  of  a  fine  width.  At  this  time  Venice 
E  2 


62  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

was  no  longer  a  republic,  but  formed  a  part  of  the  Austrian 
Territory;  of  course,  the  Major  had  every  facility  from  the 
officers  of  government.  The  party  often  chartered  a  gon 
dola  for  their  excursions,  but  they  did  not  like  the  slow-mov 
ing,  mournful  looking  vessel ;  most  of  them  being  either 
painted  black,  or  lined  with  black  cloth.  The  bridges  are 
of  stone,  and  more  numerous  than  the  canals,  there  being 
between  four  and  five  hundred  of  each.  The  largest  of  these 
bridges  is  the  Rialto  ;  some  of  these  bridges  are  quite  small, 
raised  from  the  walk  only  by  a  step  or  two.  Miranda's 
brother  turning  suddenly  round  to  point  out  some  new  wonder 
to  her  view,  made  a  mis-step  and  fell,  but  instantly  recover 
ing  himself,  laughed  off  the -accident.  The  officer  smiling 
said,  "  it  is  fortunate  for  you  that  we  are  on  a  small  bridge, 
for  the  Venetians  have  a  proverb  "  to  fall  on  the  Rialto,  is 
the  worst  of  omens  ;  but  probably  that  is  only  a  glance  at 
traffic,  and  has  a  covert  meaning ;  but  I  forgat  that  I  was 
talking  to  those  who  came  from  where  the  people  are  above 
all  superstition."  The  good  aunt  looked  confused,  and  Mi 
randa  let  fall  her  veil,  and  the  accident  was  not  again  men 
tioned. 

They  then  visited  the  office  where  thousands  in  a  state 
of  abject  want  and  wretchedness  repair  to  see  their  ances 
tor's  names  incribed  in  the  golden  book  of  nativity.  This 
republic  shows  us  the  mutability  of  all  things,  said  the  Aus 
trian  officer  ;  for  more  than  thirteen  hundred  years  this  city 
has  stood,  and  for  more  than  seven  hundred  of  it  was  a  prin 
cess  of  the  sea.  Her  armies  and  navies  have  made  infidels 
tremble,  and  filled  Christendom  with  admiration  ;  crowned 
heads  were  proud  to  rank  among  her  nobles,  and  her  aris 
tocracy  acknowledged  no  superiors  on  the  globe  ;  she  rais 
ed  her  glory  on  trade,  and  fell  by  pride  and  folly.  When 
her  commercial  resources  were  dried  up,  she  consoled  her- 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  63 

self  with  what  she  had  been,  and  forgot  what  she  was.  As 
her  prosperity  declined,  her  severity  increased.  In  the  name 
of  republican  justice  she  committed  acts  of  the  vilest  despo 
tism  ;  with  the  imbecility  of  tattered  poverty  she  assumed 
the  pride  and  meanness  of  liveried  mercenaries.  Once  the 
highborn  fair  of  Venice  could  not  bear  the  slightest  breath 
of  suspicion,  now  no  city  in  Italy  is  more  lax  in  its  morals. 
The  traffic  now  of  Venice  does  not  equal  one  of  the  smallest 
seaports  in  the  United  States.  These  miserable  Venetians 
have  some  relief  twice  a  year  ;  when  the  Christmas  carni 
val  is  celebrated,  and  on  Ascension  day,when  they  go  through 
the  frivalous  ceremony  of  marrying  the  Adriatic.  Your  Re 
public,  my  dear  friends,  has  not  the  same  dangers  to  go 
through  ;  there  was  a  time  when  you  were  fast  verging  to 
aristocracy,  but  the  mass  belonged  to  the  middling  classes 
of  society,  and  they  kept  down  the  proud  spirits  that  would 
tower  above  the  rest,  by  the  talismanic  power  of  a  ballot  box. 
This  power  may  be  abused  ;  watch  it  with  great  care  ;  but 
let  us  leave  this  subject,  or  rather  this  side  of  it,  and  look  at 
something  that  Venice  may  boast  of.  We  have  seen  almost 
as  many  fine  paintings  here  as  in  Rome  ;  her  musicians  are 
second  to  none  for  delicacy  and  cultivation.  If  operas  are 
valuable,  and  they  seem  to  amuse  nations,  she  was  the  nur- 
sing  mother  of  them  ;  she  was  also  a  patron  of  the  fine  arts, 
but  she  cannot  put  in  any  high  claims  for  literary  glory ; 
but  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  Aldi — those  illustrious 
patrons  of  learning,  had  a  press  here  as  early  as  1459." — 
The  Austrian  finding  that  he  had  been  unconsciously  making 
a  long  speech,  apologized  to  his  friends,  observing  that  when 
on  the  subject  of  freedom,  he  was  apt  to  be  carried  away, 
and  added  with  a  smile,  "  it  is  seldom  that  one  of  his  Imperi 
al  Majesty's  officers  has  an  opportunity  of  touching  upon 
such  a  subject."  The  prudent  Americans  thought  their 


64  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

friend  had  somewhat  forgot  himself.  He  was  overheard, 
and  the  Austrian  Intendent  who  was  in  his  secret,  cautioned 
him  the  next  day  against  such  freedom  of  speech. 

For  several  days  they  continued  (after  reading  in  the 
morning  some  passages  of  the  history  of  Venice  when  in  her 
glory)  to  pursue  their  observations.  They  were  showed 
the  house  where  the  Moor  had  told  his  wondrous  tales  to  the 
listening  Desdemona.  If  they  had  some  doubts  of  the  cor- 
rectnessofthe  tradition,  the  house  looked  old  enough  to  favor 
the  belief..  The  Venetians  do  not  like  the  tragedy  of  Othello. 
They  say  that  the  story  is  impossible,  that  the  daughter  of 
a  Venetian  senator  should  wed  a  Moor  ;  but  they  cannot 
deny  but  thai  there  is  something  of  the  same  nature  in  their 
remote  legends.  The  story  is  singular,  but  not  impossible. 
It  is  not  often  that  a  visage  is  seen  in  the  mind — but  it  some 
times  so  happens.  The  moral  of  the  tragedy  is  good  :  it 
shows  that  unnatural  and  ill-sorted  connections  generally 
end  in  distrust  or  doubt. 

As  they  passed  the  Rialto,  they  discovered  that  the  Jews 
were  obliged,  even  now,  to  wear  a  slip  of  red  cloth  in  their 
caps,  to  designate  them  from  other  nations,  If  the  Jews  were 
obliged  to  do  this  now,  in  the  humble  state  ^of  this  country, 
what  degradations  did  not  they  suffer  in  the  proud  state  of 
Venice  !  Then,  they  were  only  permitted  to  exist  there  ; 
now,  they  pay  no  small  part  of  the  taxes  of  the  city. 
"  Oppression  often  increases  as  prosperity  decreases  ;  but, 
sufferance,  as  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe"  is  nearly  at  an  end 
in  most  parts  of  the  globe. 

The  house  was  pointed  out  to  them  where  Pierre,  Jaffier, 
and  the  whole  band  of  conspirators  met  for  their  arrange 
ments — and  there  can  be  no  question  about  the  place  of  their 
execution.  It  is  thought  a  stain  almost,  a  crime  to  ap 
proach  this  place  of  torture  and  death  ;  and  the  Venetians 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  65 

now  gaze  with  astonishment,  and  almost  with  horror,  on 
foreigners  who  visit  this  spot.  Some  of  the  magnificates 
could  not  restrain  their  indignation  when  they  saw  the  love 
liest  woman  who  ever  trod  the  pavements  of  Venice — one 
who  had  attracted  admiring  crowds  as  she  passed — go  fear 
lessly  where  criminals  had  expiated  their  offences.  As  she 
returned,  they  saw  no  trait  of  sanguinary  vengeance  in  her 
countenance  :  her  face  was  as  sweet  as  an  angel's,  and  as 
reflective  as  the  waters  which  gave  them  the  image  of  their 
own  peaceful  dwellings.  As  Miranda  walked  the  streets, 
the  sculptors  followed  her  for  a  model  for  a  new  Venus. 
On  seeing  her  retire  from  this  awful  place  so  calm  and 
placid,  they  thought  she  must  be  some  saint  who  had  come 
to  take  the  sting  from  death — changing  their  minds  as  the 
people  of  Melita  did,  when  St.  Paul  shook  the  viper  from 
his  hand. 

The  American  ship  had  now  reached  Venice,  and  the 
party  prepared  to  return  to  their  native  home  ;  but  they 
could  not  think  of  commencing  their  voyage  until  they  had 
made  some  return  to  several  gentleman  who  had  extended 
to  them  the  courtesies  of  the  city.  A  large  party  was 
invited  to  dine  on  board  the  ship.  The  entertainment  was 
sumptuous,  and  the  Venetian  gentlemen  were  astonished  to 
find  such  a  banquet  on  ship-board.  The  captain  of  the  Ame 
rican  ship  was  a  good  caterer,  and  the  owner  a  munificent 
merchant.  To  all  the  varieties  that  Venice  could  furnish, 
there  were  added  all  the  fruits  of  the  Archipelago,  with 
preserved  meats  from  the  Western  Continent,  particularly 
boned  turkies — a  most  delicious  morsel  which  Venice  had 
never  known  in  the  days  of  her  Ducal  power.  The  wine, 
which  flowed  in  profusion,  had  been  once  round  the  globe, 
and  was  succeeded  by  that  which  had  twice  and  thrice 
circumnavigated  it.  Water  was  offered  them  from  every 


66  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

famous  spring  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  world — and  all, 
they  were  told  by  the  merchant  in  a  very  modest  tone,  were 
brought  by  his  own  ships  as  they  pursued  their  common 
voyages.  Venice — imperial  Venice — never  had  had  a  ship 
that  had  circumnavigated  the  globe,  since  her  glory  began. 
"  This  from  the  New  World  !"  said  they— "a  world  that  did 
not  commence  its  historical  existence  until  after  Venice  had 
begun  to  decline !"  The  ladies  retired  to  the  city  in  a  gon 
dola,  early  in  the  evening,  attended  by  the  major  and  several 
gentlemen,  who  returned  to  the  ship  and  continued  the  feast 
until  a  late  hour.  They  had  never  seen  an  American 
ship  of  such  size  and  comfort  before,  and  seemed  now 
unwilling  to  leave  her.  The  Venetians  and  Americans  parted 
with  the  best  feelings,  and  with  reciprocal  promises  of  remem 
brance.  The  next  day  the  ship  sailed  for  Naples,  and  a 
most  delightful  voyage  they  had.  The  Austrian  officer  was 
still  with  them.  They  entered  the  Bay  of  Naples,  which 
has  been  celebrated  for  more  than  three  thousand  years  by 
all  the  master-poets  of  every  age.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a 
bowl — is  thirty  miles  in  circumference,  and  nearly  eleven 
in  diameter.  They  were  all  filled  with  unbelief  when  the 
merchant  contended  that  it  was  not  in  beauty  equal  to  the 
harbor  of  New  York.  He  described  the  waters  below 
and  above  the  Narrows,  and  was  eloquent  upon  the  pic 
turesque  beauties  of  the  East  and  North  Rivers.  The  Aus 
trian  pored  over  the  map  with  intense  interest,  listening  to 
the  merchant's  rhapsodies — and  then,  with  a  half  suppressed 
sigh,  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the  country  ;  but,  recollecting 
himself,  he  turned  to  the  ladies,  and  began  an  animated 
description  of  Naples — a  city  older  than  Rome,  and  nearly 
as  renowned  in  history.  Among  other  subjects  of  history, 
he  amused  them  with  the  rise,  progress,  and  downfall  of 
Massaniello. 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  67 

They  found  Naples  a  delightful  city.     If  there  were  not 
so  many  palaces  as  in  Rome,  the  houses  occupied  by  the 
generality  of  the  inhabitants  were  more  comfortable  ;  the 
streets,  many  of  them,  are  wide,  and  kept  cleaner  than  those 
in  Rome.     The  curiosities  of  Naples  took  up  the  time  of  the 
travellers  for  several  days,  while  the  ship  was  taking  in  her 
Leghorns,  marbles,  and  silks.     At  an  auction  of  pictures — 
a  rare  event  in  Naples — for,  whatever  articles  of  this  kind 
there  are  for  sale,  are  sent  off  to  England,  or  France,  or  the 
United  States — in  this  sale  the  major  found  several  pictures 
to  his  taste.     He  bought  one  for  the  matron.     It  was  Dorcas 
administering  food  and  raiment  to  the  suffering  poor,   and 
medicine  to  the  sick.     The  face  of  the  philanthropist  and 
saint  had  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  aunt  of  Miranda, 
although  it  was  taken  three  hundred  years  before  she  was 
born.     The  picture  presented  to  Miranda,  was  Venus  yoking 
her  doves,  and  preparing  her  car  for  a  flight  to  Cytheria. 
It  was  a  chaste  and  finished  picture,  which  seemed  to  have 
a  tongue  that  spoke  most  eloquently  ;   and  until  the  very 
moment  of  bidding  each  other  farewell,  the  matron  expected 
that  the   accomplished  Austrian  would  propose  himself  for 
her  niece — but   he  said  not  a  word  of  love  ;  but,  when  he 
saw  the  signal  given  for  sailing,  the  major  approached  the 
aunt,  and  taking  her  hand,   raised  it  to  his  lips,   and  said, 
"  God  bless  you  for  many  years !"  and  then  turning  to  Mi- 
randa  with  a  pale  countenance,  and  with  more  emotion  than 
was  usual  for  him  to  exhibit,  said,  "  I  hope  to  meet  you  in 
America  :  may  every  light  of  love  and  happiness  shine  on 
your  pathway  of  life  !"   and  then,  kissing  her  hand,  let  fall 
a  tear  on  it,  and  abruptly  departed.     He  gazed  from  his 
window  on  the  gallant  ship  as  she  was  conveying  his  friends 
to  their  home.     He  felt  that  he  had  played  his  part  well, 
and  seemed  almost  sorry  that  he  had  continued  it  so  long, 


68  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

or  had  over  assumed  it.  He  again  raised  the  glass  to  his  eye, 
and  watched  the  ship  until  she  sunk  into  the  obscure  distance. 
He  retired  early,  but  found  no  repose.  His  dreams  were 
full  of  horror.  In  them  he  was  walking  the  deck  of  the 
ship  with  Miranda,  in  solemn  discourse,  when  the  sea-gulls 
thickened  around  them,  and  uttered  those  cries  which  the 
mariners  say  are  the  forerunners  of  a  storm,  often  of  ship, 
wreck  and  death  itself.  Miranda  was  frightened  :  the  storm 
gathered  fast :  the  ship,  tempest-tost,  was  running  on  the 
rocks  :  she  struck :  he  held  his  beloved  one  in  his  arms, 
and  plunged  with  her  into  the  waves  to  reach  the  shore — 
and  at  this  moment  awoke,  and  found  it  was  a  dream.  The 
next  day  the  major  left  Naples  for  Rome — not  caring  much 
which  way  he  wandered.  The  ruins  of  cities  no  longer 
attracted  his  attention  ;  and  even  the  sight  of  illumined 
manuscripts  caught  his  eye  only  for  a  moment.  The  only 
scintillation  of  pleasure  he  found,  was  in  studying  the 
Italian  tongue,  and  in  reading  the  works  of  Petrarch  in 
the  original  language.  His  mind  was  so  gloomy,  that  he 
preferred  the  ^legy  upon  Laura  to  all  the  sonnets  of  the 
lover.  He  made  several  translations  of  this  exquisite  pro 
duction,  which  had  been  written  in  all  the  meltings  of 
love — purified,  and  consecrated  by  the  death  of  the  object. 
Looking  at  his  own  translations,  he  would  turn  to  those  made 
by  Sir  William  Jones,  who  was  formed  by  nature  and  edu 
cation,  and  taste,  to  transfer  the  beauties  of  one  language  to 
another,  in  all  the  plaintive  melodies  of  love.  The  major 
gave  various  versions  to  that  passage  from  the  elegy  which 
Sir  William  Jones  has  rendered  in  the  English  language 
as  follows  : — 

"Hard  fate  of  man,  on  whom  the  heavens  bestow 
A  drop  of  pleasure  for  a  sea  of  wo  ! 
Ah  !  life  of  care,  in  fears  or  hopes  consum'd ! 
Vain  hopes,  that  wither  'ere  they  well  have  bloom'd  ! 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  69 

How  oft,  emerging  from  the  shades  of  night, 
Laughs  the  gay  morn,  and  spreads  a  purple  light ! 
But  soon  the  gathering  clouds  o'ershade  the  skies — 
Red  lightnings  play — and  thundering  storms  arise  ! 
How  oft  a  day,  that  fair  and  rnild  appears, 
Grows  dark  with  fate,  and  mars  the  toil  of  years  !" 

This  part  of  the  elegy  was  selected  as  suited  to  his  own 
case— for  the  elegy  contains  verses  of  greater  beauty  than 
these.  The  address  of  the  shade  of  Laura  is  full  of  sur 
passing  tenderness. 

The  Cardinal  Gonzalvi  was  truly  the  friend  of  the  major, 
and,  finding  out  his  history,  advised  him  to  throw  aside  the 
effeminate  Petrarch,  and  seize  more  epic  matter.  "  To 
divert  your  mind  for  the  present,"  said  this  great  dignitary 
of  the  church,  "  take  the  Jewish  scriptures  in  your  hand, 
and  travel  through  Palestine,  and  see  how  the  prophecies 
have  been  fulfilled.  It  is  a  subject  worthy  of  a  philosopher 
and  a  poet,  as  well  as  of  a  Christian.  Pass  into  Egypt  : 
measure  the  pyramids — open  the  catacombs,  and  read  the 
hieroglyphics— and  not  whine  in  the  shade,  in  the  prime  of 
manhood,  over  a  woman's  love.  Nothing  so  idle  and  in 
glorious  as  to  waste  a  life  that  might  be  useful  to  mankind, 
in  moaning  over  a  disappointment  of  the  heart.  One  of  your 
own  poets — I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  cardinal,  "  for  I  cannot 
separate  the  American  from  the  English  nation — has  ex 
pressed  himself  better  on  this  subject  than  any  poet  or  phi 
losopher,  ancient  or  modern,  I  have  ever  known  : — 

'  But,  can  the  noble  mind  for  ever  brood 
(The  willing  victim  of  a  weary  mood) 
On  heartless  cares  that  squander  life  away, 
And  cloud  young  Genius  bright'ning  into  day? 
Shame  to  the  coward  thought,  that  e'er  betray'd 
The  noon  of  manhood  to  a  myrtle  shade  ! 
If  Hope's  creative  spirit  cannot  raise 
One  trophy  sacred  to  thy  future  days, 
Scorn  the  dull  crowd  that  haunt  the  gloomy  shrin« 
Of  hapless  love,  to  murmur  and  repine  T  " 
F 


70  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

In  a  few  days  the  lover  set  out  upon  his  journey.  He 
first  visited  the  Islands  of  the  Archipelago.  He  then  visited 
Athens.  He  viewed  all  the  curiosities  of  the  country — which, 
in  its  present  form,  was  nothing.  Athens  was  only  a  village  ; 
but,  however  disappointed  at  this,  he  was  determined  to  call 
up  the  history  of  past  ages.  It  was  a  mighty  and  a  mourn 
ful  task — but  he  could  not  leave  Athens  until  it  was  per 
formed.  Who  could  visit  Mar's  Hill  without  thinking  of 
the  Areopagi,  and  all  the  wise  decisions  of  that  wonderful 
judicial  body  ?  Here,  too,  he  looked  down  on  the  forum, 
where  the  great  orators  flourished.  In  one  of  those  delight 
ful  nights  which  are  found  in  that  climate,  he  awoke  in  the 
memory  of  history,  the  songs  of  Sappho — the  thunders  of 
Demosthenes — and  the  sweet  outpourings  of  Plato.  The 
reign  of  despotism  was  now  resting  on  the  land  ;  but  the 
resentment  of  oppressed  pride  and  indignant  resolution  seem- 
ed  at  that  hour  kindling  up  among  them,  and  would  soon  be 
bursting  into  a  flame.  It  was  indeed  painful  to  see  the  calm 
of  despotism  reigning  over  this  country  of  ultra  freedom  and 
unbounded  renown.  The  air  was  as  clear  as  ever  breathed 
around  the  head  of  Socrates,  when  he  all  night  long  gazed 
on  the  heavens  and  drew  inspirations  from  the  light  which 
poured  upon  his  head  :  but  there  was  no  Socrates  here  now, 
nor  even  an  Alcibiades,  to  delight  the  people  with  splendor, 
or  amuse  them  with  his  eccentricities. 

The  history  of  Athens  was  more  than  her  antiquities. 
Some  parts  of  the  Parthenon  remained  ;  but  every  wealthy 
depredator  was  allowed  to  plunder,  as  he  could  pay.  If, 
now  and  then,  an  old  Greek  felt  the  insult,  the  Turks  (their 
masters)  had  the  pay,  and  all  were  silent.  The  Illysus, 
which  had  so  often  flowed  in  song,  or  in  the  mind  of  the 
classic  traveller,  he  found  a  little,  dry,  rocky  chasm,  in 
which  it  was  difficult  to  get  water  enough  to  slake  his  thirst. 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  71 

Still,  he  found  there  was  a  strong  presentiment  prevailing, 
that  Greece  would  soon  be  free.  The  Greeks  were  fully 
impressed  with  the  sentiment,  that  Christendom  would  not 
much  longer  suffer  them  to  be  trampled  upon  by  Moslem 
power.  There  was  a  settled  melancholy  in  the  countenances 
of  the  people  of  Athens,  which  spoke  a  volume  of  sufferings. 
From  this  land  of  story  he  passed  to  Constantinople,  to 
hail  the  minarets  and  towers  of  that  memorable  city. — 
Here  he  expected  to  find  a  world  of  wonders  in  things  that 
exist,  and  a  greater  one  in  the  memory  of  the  things  that 
have  passed.  Could  this  dull  city  be  the  once  famous  house 
of  wisdom,  from  which  fled  the  scholars  who  enlightened  all 
Europe  in  the  fifteenth  century  1  But,  as  he  examined  the 
city,  he  found  more  to  attract  attention  than  he  first  thought 
there  was.  The  pure  water  which  every  family  has  at  the 
public  expense,  was  no  small  affair — and  the  inhabitants 
were  better  educated  than  he  supposed  they  were.  Most 
of  the  Turks  could  read  the  Koran,  and  many  of  them  were 
good  readers ;  but,  after  all,  he  could  not  see  any  thing  of 
liberty,  though  all  seemed  to  do  as  they  chose.  There  is 
a  dreadful  stillness  in  the  air  in  which  despotism  reigns, 
which  seems  to  throw  a  sad  palsy  over  human  actions.  He 
could  not  conveniently  take  the  rout  marked  out  to  him  by 
Gonsalvi,  as  some  disturbances  were  known  to  exist  in 
Egypt — and  therefore  he  had  taken  this  course.  After 
amusing  himself  in  angling  in  the  Bosphorus,  and  eating 
some  of  the  delicious  fish  Lucullus  loved  so  well,  he 
directed  his  course  to  Moskow.  He  was  delighted  with  this 
wonder  of  the  world  :  he  considered  it  a  sort  of  union  of  the 
natural  luxuries  of  the  East,  and  the  artificial  comforts  of 
the  North.  The  gardens  abounded  with  flowers  and  fruits 
in  great  profusion,  and  the  houses  were  prepared  to  keep  off 
every  blast  of  winter. 


72  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

If  the  traveller  was  astonished  at  Russia,  he  was  more 
surprised  and  delighted  with  Persia.  From  what  he  eould 
understand — and  he  had  access  to  the  learned — they  were  a 
well-educated  people.  The  females  were  well  read  in  the 
history  and  tales  of  the  country,  and  many  of  them  had 
attained  the  art  of  an  elegant  chirography.  This  branch  of 
education  was  in  a  higher  state,  he  found,  than  in  any  coun 
try  he  ever  visited.  Persia  is  the  garden  of  the  world — and 
the  major  being  an  agriculturist,  florist,  and  deeply  skilled 
in  engrafting,  budding,  and  all  the  mysteries  of  Pomona,  took 
great  delight  in  this  branch  of  study.  Soon  as  the  Prince 
of  Persia  found  that  he  was  a  lover  of  nature,  and  devoted 
to  flowers  and  fruits,  he  gave  orders  for  the  opening  all  the 
royal  gardens  to  the  stranger,  and  ordered  all  his  gardeners 
and  botanists  to  offer  to  him  every  assistance  in  their  power. 
Through  the  medium  of  the  French  and  Latin  languages 
they  carried  on  a  free  intercourse.  Nature  had  done  much 
for  the  growth  of  all  sorts  of  vegetables,  flowers,  and  forest 
trees ;  but,  neither  in  Italy,  in  Naples,  Florence,  or  Rome* 
had  he  ever  seen  such  fine  gardens,  as  in  Persia.  The 
muse  of  the  country  had  consecrated  the  different  flowers 
with  some  sweet  touch  of  poetry,  and  had  embalmed 
many  of  the  beautiful  productions  of  nature,  which  Flora 
herself  had  lost.  The  mandrake  here  had  now  the  same 
cabalistic  character  which  it  bore  in  the  days  of  the  patriarch, 
and  was  used  now  as  Rachel  considered  it  in  the  primitive 
ages.  The  language  of  flowers  was  well  understood,  and 
even  now  used  in  love.  The  major  amused  himself  in  this 
diversion,  and  some  of  his  female  friends  thought  that  he  was 
practising  in  the  science — not  learning.  The  nymphse  of 
Persia  he  found  larger  than  those  of  the  ponds  of  his  native 
land,  and  of  a  higher  fragrance.  He  amused  himself  every 
morning  in  collecting  them  from  their  beds,  and  examining 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  73 

the  different  kinds ;  and  he  began  seriously  to  doubt  if  they 
were  indigenous  in  his  native  land — but  had,  in  the  course 
of  three  thousand  years,  travelled  from  Persia  with  the  peach, 
the  apricot,  the  pink,  and  the  melon,  from  country  to  coun 
try,  through  Europe,  until  they  crossed  the  Atlantic  with 
the  early  colonists  of  America.  In  his  conversations  with 
the  great  gardeners,  he  found  they  had  not  as  yet  cultivated 
the  asparagus  or  the  potatoe — and  he  put  them  in  the  way  to 
get  them  at  once.  He  gave  them  a  history  of  the  articles, 
and  astonished  them  by  conjecturing  the  quantity  of  the 
latter  article  yearly  raised  in  the  United  States,  for  the 
use  of  man,  and  the  cattle  and  swine.  All  these  Asiatic 
countries  have  a  dislike  to  swine — from  the  circumstance 
that  such  obese  animals  are  unwholesome  in  a  warm  cli 
mate.  He  selected  as  many  sorts  of  flower  seeds  as  he 
had  not  seen  in  any  other  country,  and  had  them  carefully 
preserved. 

On  returning  to  Constantinople,  he  found  an  American 
vessel  sailing  for  Naples.  He  embarked  for  that  city,  which 
he  reached  in  safety.  Here  he  found  several  letters  from 
England.  His  American  friends  had  heard  nothing  from 
him,  and  knew  not  where  he  was,  until  after  his  departure 
to-  the  Holy  Land.  At  Naples,  an  American  ship-master 
gave  him  some  papers  from  his  native  State — which  he 
packed  up,  to  read  more  at  leisure  when  he  reached  Rome. 

One  morning  before  his  usual  time  to  take  a  walk,  he 
took  up  the  Centinal,  a  paper  of  his  native  state,  his  eye  fell 
on  an  obituary  notice  of  Miranda  Falmouth.  The  paper  fell 
from  his  hands,  and  it  was  many  hours  before  he  ventured  to- 
take  another  look  at  it ;  when  he  made  an  effort  to  read  the 
article,  it  stated,  that  she  had  died  of  a  rapid  consumption, 
arising  from  a  cold  caught  in  a  storm  at  sea,  as  she  was  ap 
proaching  the  American  coast.  The  writer  spoke  of  hey 

F  2 


74  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

beauty  and  elegance,  and  of  her  high  mindedness  and  moral 
worth  ;  stated  that  she  bore  her  sickness  with  Christian  forti 
tude,  expressing  no  anxiety  for  life,  no  regrets  at  her  prema 
ture  death,  which  she  felt  was  near,  several  weeks  previous 
to  her  death.  The  writer  glanced  at  some  affair  of  the 
heart,  but  so  obscenely  that  no  stranger  could  conjecture  the 
meaning  of  the  sentence.  In  a  paper  of  the  same  file,  he 
found  a  partial  account  of  his  own  wanderings.  It  must  have 
been  from  Clem,  who  had  permission  to  return  to  the  United 
States,  when  the  Major  left  Rome  to  go  on  his  travels.  A 
fever  and  delirium  followed  this  shock,  from  which  he  slowly 
recovered,  under  the  care  of  the  best  physicians  ;  the  medi 
cal  friends  of  the  Cardinal  were  in  attendance  ;  amusement 
rather  than  medicine  was  resorted  to  for  his  recovery.  The 
softest  music  was  heard  from  a  distant  room,  and  the  finest 
flowers  were  sent  him  glistening  with  morning  dew.  Ex 
quisite  paintings  were  brought  for  nim  to  examine.  The 
mind  of  the  sufferer  became  tranquil,  and  his  fever  passed 
away.  As  he  was  recovering,  he  received  a  package  of 
letters  from  a  friend  in  the  United  States,  addressed  to  Major 
Carter  ;  they  had  been  by  some  accident  long  in  coming  j 
the  writer  had  been  made  acquainted  with  his  ad  ventures  by 
Clem.  He  also  added  that  Miranda  had  been  informed  of 
all  the  circumstances  of  his  wanderings  from  the  same  source, 
and  found  that  her  Austrian  admirer  was  her  discarded  lover 
Thomas  C.  Hampton.  She  was  ill  when  Clern.  arrived  but 
she  sent  for  him  ;  she  made  him  recount  minutely  all  the 
causes  of  the  assumption  of  the  Austrian  uniform,  dark  wig, 
a'nd  colored  whiskers.  From  day  to  day,  Clem,  continued 
the  narrative,  and  she  was  amused,  and  a  slight  angelic  smile 
at  times,  played  around  her  face,  and  the  faithful  servant 
seemed  to  think  that  he  was  engaged  in  the  holy  work  of 
showing  his  master's  heart.  When  he  left  the  room,  he 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  75 

thought  that  the  Major  might  now  come  back  again,  for  he 
was  quite  sure  that  the  young  lady  would  not  drive  him 
away  again.  It  did  escape  from  her  lips,  to  the  ear  of  a 
female  friend,  while  Clem,  was  telling  his  long  story,  "if  he 
were  to  assume  as  many  forms  as  Proteus,  he  would  win  my 
heart  in  every  one  of  them."  The  Major's  friend  conjured 
him  to  hasten  home  to  secure  his  own  happiness,  and  that  of 
his  friends ;  but  added  that  it  was  his  duty  to  state,  that  the 
physicians  thought  Miranda  very  sick. 

Comparing  the  date  of  the  letters  with  that  of  the  notice  of 
Miranda's  death,  he  found  she  had  lived  three  months  after 
this  opinion  was  given.  "  She  is  dead,"  said  the  broken 
hearted  lover,  "  and  died  without  being  another's."  It  may 
be  called  selfish,  it  is  selfish,  to  draw  any  consolation  from 
thinking  that  that  which  heaven  has  denied  us,  was  never 
possessed  by  another  ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  is  natural  to 
every  mind,  unless  sublimated  by  the  graces  of  an  ardent 
piety. 

The  Major  now  left  his  room  with  composure,  and  sought 
in  all  the  studies  of  the  artists  for  a  model  of  a  monument  to 
Miranda.  At  length  he  found  one  to  suit  him,  it  was  the 
monument  Octavia  erected  to  the  memory  of  her  daughter. 
On  it  was  sculptured,  Grief  attempting  to  preserve  a  lilly,  by 
pressing  it  between  the  leaves  of  a  manuscript,  on  which  His 
tory  was  inscribing  the  passing  events  of  the  world.  He 
watched  the  artist  in  every  stage  of  the  work,  he  was  the 
immortal  Canova.  This  transcendant  genius  had  read  the 
Major's  whole  soul,  and  felt  a  strong  sympathy  for  him, 
for  he  too  had  suffered  in  his  youth,  from  the  pangs  of  love, 
which  was  disturbed  in  its  course  by  the  merciless  hand  of 
aristocratic  pride.  On  the  disappointment  he  redoubles  his 
assiduity  to  his  profession,  and  made  himself  the  master  sculp 
tor  of  the  world.  Enamored  witJi  the  beauties  of  nature,  it 


76  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

carried  him  directly  to  nature's  God, 'and  he  was  as  remark 
able  for  his  piety  as  for  his  genius. 

Only  one  word  was  found  on  the  monument,  it  was  MI 
RANDA.  When  the  artist  had  given  the  last  touch  to  his 
work,  the  traveller  prepared  to  return  home  with  his  charge, 
now  dearer  to  him  than  all  living  things.  In  sixty  days  he 
reached  the  iron-bound  coast  of  New-England  ;  the  monu 
ment  was  placed  in  a  cemetary  long  since  thickly  peopled 
with  the  congregation  of  the  dead.  It  had  been  a  favorite 
walk  of  Miranda,  and  sometimes  they  had  mused  over  the 
monuments  together.  It  may  seem  singular  to  those  who 
think  but  little  about  the  sources  of  their  pains  and  pleasures 
that  a  grave-yard  should  be  a  lover's  walk  ;  but  it  is  often 
made  such.  There  is  something  of  a  melancholy  tinge  in 
pure  affection,  which  many  have  felt,  but  cannot  describe  ; 
even  if  the  current  runs  smoothly.  This  melancholy  is  per 
haps  the  offspring  of  that  solemn  certainty  of  a  coming  sep 
aration  by  death,  while  the  uncertainty  of  the  world  beyond 
the  grave  comes  sweeping  over  the  mind,  and  crowds  it  with 
hopes  and  fears  so  intensely,  that  we  loose  that  calmness  and 
self-possession  which  are  necessary  in  making  a  philosophi 
cal  analysis  of  our  feelings.  Our  unwillingness  to  be  for 
gotten,  is  plainly  felt  in  the  pleasure  we  derive  in  perusing 
the  epitaphs  of  others. 

The  former  friends  of  Major  Hampton  now  gathered 
around  him,  and  urged  him  to  political  life  ;  they  offered 
him  a  seat  in  the  State  Legislature,  but  he  would  not  listen 
to  these  proposals.  He  reasoned  incorrectly;  the  path  way 
of  politics  is  the  grave  of  love,  and  almost  every  affection.  If 
he  wished  to  have  been  cured,  he  should  have  entered  in  the 
bustle  of  political  life.  For  some  months  he  seemed  to  find 
relief  in  making,  returning,  and  receiving  social  visits,  and 
in  looking  over  the  record  of  events-  that  had  transpired 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  77 

since  his  departure ;  but  still,  there  was  a  sickness  at  his 
heart,  which,  if  some  friend  did  not  come  in,  he  attempted 
to  remove  by  an  extra  glass  of  Madeira — when  the  decanter 
grew  low,  he  had  it  replenished.  He  was  a  man  of  leisure, 
and  in  this  busy  community,  such  a  one  has  many  heavy 
hours  on  his  hands,  which  he  could  not  fill  up  with  subjects 
of  taste  or  amusement.  The  Major  disliked  fishing  or  shoot 
ing,  and  from  early  life  had  taken  up  a  fixed  determination 
against  all  games  of  chance.  Conversation  was  his  passion  ; 
but  this  of  a  high  intellectual  order  was,  even  in  the  enlight 
ened  society  in  which  he  lived,  difficult,  at  all  times  to  obtain. 
There  are  but  few,  in  any  society,  who  are  sufficiently  afflu 
ent  in  intellectual  wealth,  to  pour  th'eir  riches  in  golden 
showers  of  eloquence  so  lavishly  as  Hampton  wished  to  en 
joy.  A  lover  of  conversation,  next  to  an  eloquent  talker, 
loves  a  patient  listener.  If  he  could  not  find  a  talker,  he 
looked  after  a  listener,  and  with  him  he  was  satisfied.  He 
loved  admiration,  whether  expressed  in  looks  or  words.  His 
table  was  always  hospitable,  and  many  gentlemen  of  high 
standing  were  found  there  ;  but  when  he  could  not  obtain 
them,  he  took  those  of  inferior  grades,  and  sometimes  those 
whose  characters  he  had  not  carefully  inspected ;  and  if, 
perchance,  some  one  of  his  best  friends  stepped  in,  he  was 
offended  by  finding  himself  in  company  with  those  whom  he 
did  not  wish  to  associate  with.  As  the  better  sort  drew  off, 
the  other  associates  increased,  until  he  was  told  that  many 
of  his  best  friends  refused  to  come  to  his  table,  because  they 
did  not  know  who  might  be  there.  This  chafed  him,  and 
he  would  sometimes  complain  most  bitterly  of  neglect.  Such 
was  the  urbanity  of  his  manners,  and  munificence  of  his 
charities,  that  the  public  strove  to  put  the  best  construction 
they  could  upon  his  conduct.  After  it  was  found  he  was 
sinking  into  habits  of  great  indulgence,  many  efforts  were 


78  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

made  to  redeem  him.  Some  of  his  old  friends  would  pro 
pose  short  excusions  into  the  country,  as  they  knew  that  he 
was  fond  of  riding,  and  drank  the  best  of  liquors,  and  could 
drink  no  others,  they  continued  to  pass  through  obscure 
towns,  where  nothing  but  the  vilest  liquors  could  be  obtain 
ed,  in  order  to  cure  him  of  the  habit ;  but  it  was  of  no  avail, 
for  when  he  reached  a  place  where  the  luxuries  of  life 
abounded,  he  amply  made  up  for  his  privations.  It  was 
seen  by  every  one  that  his  nerves  were  now  shattered,  and 
that  his  mind  had  lost  some  of  its  buoyancy,  if  not  its  strength. 
He  was  unwilling  to  sleep  in  a  room  alone,  and  often  urged 
his  travelling  companion  to  share  his  apartment  with  him. 
At  times  he  would  start  from  his  slumbers  in  the  dead  of 
night,  the  cold  sweat  standing  on  his  brow,  and  every  limb 
trembling  with  fear.  At  such  moments  he  would  relate  the 
night-mare-dreams  of  his  soul.  Sometimes  he  was  quarrel 
ling  with  the  shade  of  his  father,  and  uttering  blasphemy 
before  his  sainted  mother,  or  he  was  driven  to  the  worst  of 
crimes.  Sometimes  he  almost  believed  he  had  perpetrated 
some  horrid  deed,  and  would  call  on  his  friends  to  protect 
him.  At  other  times  he  was  floating  down  the  dance  with 
some  smiling  beauty,  radientin  all  her  charms  ;  and  instant 
ly  she  would  turn  to  a  death's  head,  and  grin  in  his  face, 
whilst  her  lovely  form  would  become  a  heap  of  dust  and 
ashes  at  his  feet.  Not  unfrequently  he  was  hurled  by 
countless  furies  from  a  lofty  precipice,  or  bidden  to  take  a 
fearful  leap  over  some  yawning  chasm.  The  grave-yard, 
the  charnel  house,  the  shrouded  corse,  would  haunt  his  eye, 
and  the  shrieks  of  those  in  torments,  torture  his  ear. 

Even  after  he  had  spoken,  seemingly  awake,  awful  visions 
would  swim  before  his  eyes.  In  this  state  of  mind  he  would 
drink  large  quantities  of  brandy  to  steep  his  senses  in  obliv 
ion.  This  at  some  times,  no  doubt,  gave  him  relief,  but  in 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  79 

the  end  was  sure  to  increase  the  evil.  This  intemperance 
was  not  only  injurious  to  his  health  of  body  and  mind,  but 
had  also  a  deleterious  effect  on  his  affections.  His  memory 
suffered  a  sad  decay,  and  he  lost  all  interest  in  books,  except 
those  of  course  humor,  and  vulgar  satire.  Over  such  pro 
ductions  he  revelled,  and  shook  his  sides  with  a  half  idiot 
laugh.  The  things  he  drew  from  his  memory,  resembled 
the  threads  and  patches  of  a  once  splendid  wardrobe,  mouldy 
by  damps,  and  eaten  by  moths,  good  for  nothing  but  to  show 
that  it  had  once  been  rich,  and  now  mocked  its  possessor. 
He  who  was  once  the  soul  of  honor,  who  would  not  have 
suffered  a  shade  to  sully  the  fair  fame  of  an  absent  friend, 
would  now  sit  whole  hours  in  listening  to  slanders  which  he 
knew  to  be  false.  Perhaps  this  arose  from  his  wish  to  bring 
others  to  his  own  level.  He  became  suspicious  of  all  his 
former  friends,  and  imagined  that  they  all  had  conspired 
against  him.  Knowing  his  change  of  disposition  and  his 
sad  habits,  his  former  acquaintances  no  doubt,  did  shun  him 
whenever  they  could  ;  but  if  he  met  one  of  them  accidental 
ly,  he  would  speak  of  his  situation  with  the  most  bitter  an 
guish  ;  when  any  one  ventured  10  suggest  a  reformation,  he 
would  say  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  too  late." 

'•  Man,  but  a  rush  against  Othello's  breast, 
And  he  retires.'' 

He  had  for  several  years  deserted  his  own  house,  and 
taking  his  chaise,  rode  from  town  to  town,  spending  a  short 
time  in  each  place  ;  the  length  of  his  visit  depending  very 
much  on  the  temper  and  forbearance  of  his  landlord.  New 
faces  and  scenery  gave  him  some  slight  relief,  but  he  never 
thought  of  a  permanent  cure.  The  sight  of  a  pleasant  stream, 
as  he  rode  along,  would  induce  him  to  stop  and  bathe  his 
burning  temples,  which  would  bring  his  mind  to  some  natural 


80  THE  INTEMPERATE. 

tone  again  ;  but  the  waters  of  the  brook  or  the  breeze  of 
the  hill,  were  only  momentary  medicines  for  his  incurable 
diseases  of  mind  and  body.  Such,  however,  was  the  strength 
of  his  constitution,  that,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one,  he 
lived  more  than  seven  years  in  this  state  of  inebriation. — 
Towards  the  last  of  his  days,  he  became  exceedingly  appre 
hensive  of  spontaneous  combustion,  and  would  not  suffer  a 
candle  or  lamp  to  be  brought  near  him.  Some  of  the  wretch 
es  who  were  his  companions,  would  throw  him  into  agonies 
for  their  amusement,  by  alluding  to  some  wonderful  case  of 
spontaneous  combustion.  This  once  clear-headed  and  firm 
philosopher,  became  miserably  superstitious.  He  heard 
death  ticks  in  his  bed  at  midnight,  and  if  a  grass-hopper 
at  noon  day  snapped  his  wings  he  thought  it  the  prognostic 
of  his  funeral  knell ;  the  voice  of  a  tree-toad  seemed  a  har 
binger  of  mishap,  and  the  howl  of  a  dog  was  to  him  terrific. 
In  the  autumn  and  winter  evenings  he  would  crouch  near 
the  fire  to  hear  the  foolish  tales  of  witches,  and  their  won 
derful  foats,  in  olden  times  ;  and  often  these  ridiculous  sto 
ries  would  blanch  that  cheek,  which  had  kept  its  color  amid 
the  heat  of  battle,  when  dashing  through  the  hostile  squad 
rons.  When  the  morning  sun  arose  he  felt  ashamed  of  his 
fears,  and  would  attempt  to  laugh  off  his  credulity,  with 
the  young  folks  who  had  listened  with  him  to  the  stories ; 
but  it  would  not  do,  the  impressions  they  received  in  the 
evening,  of  his  belief  in  these  supernatural  agencies,  were 
not  to  be  removed  by  a  facetious  tale  told  in  the  morning, 
evidently  from  mortification  at  having  exposed  himself. — 
Fear  is  often  a  creature  of  a  diseased  mind  and  body.  If  in 
temperance  sometimes  produces  rash  acts,  it  more  common 
ly  produces  mental  and  corporal  imbecility.  Had  Alex 
ander  of  Macedon  been  as  many  years  a  drunkard,  he 
would  have  been  as  cowardly.  Intemperance  is  a  monster 


THE    INTEMPERATE.  81 

that  first  came  to  soothe,  then  to  violate  its  victim  ;  an  then 
to  deliver  him  to  scorn,  and  to  infamy,  and  afterwards  to 
set  malevolence  to  write  his  epitaph. 

The  seventh  dreary  year  had  passed  away  since  Major 
Hampton  had  been,  in  a  good  measure,  driven  from  the 
abodes  of  men  ;  and  spring  had  arrived  in  all  her  loveliness, 
filling  the  fields  with  flowers,  and  the  air  with  perfumes,  ere 
he  ventured  to  appear  abroad  to  inhale  an  invigorating 
breath.  At  this  time  an  old  friend,  who  had  never  entirely 
given  him  up,  sent  word  that  she  should  be  happy  to  se^him 
either  -in  their  native  town  or  elsewhere  be  would  name. — 
In  this  good  woman's  and  relatives  breast,  there  lingered  a 
hope  that  she  could  save  him,  if  she  could  prevail  upon  him 
to  make  her  house  his  place  of  abode.  He  had  lived  with 
her  when  he  was  young,  and  she  had  then  greit  influence 
over  him.  Her  letter  was  pressing,  and  affectionate,  and  it 
touched  his  heart  more  than  any  thing  had  done  for  a  long 
time.  He  braced  himself  up  for  this  short  visit,  and  return 
ed  an  answer  that  he  would  be  with  her  in  a  few  days.  He 
refrained  for  several  days  from  indulging  in  his  usual  pota 
tions ;  took  under  the  direction  of  his  physician,  warm  and 
cold  baths,  and  fed  frequently  on  broth,  and  drank  arrow 
root.  He  dressed  himself  with  great  care,  and  his  physician 
began  to  think  that  some  miraculous  change  was  to  be  ef 
fected.  On  a  fine  morning  in  June  he  stepped  into  his  chaise 
to  commence  hisshort  journey.  Ele  shook  hands  with  those 
around  him,  and  bade  t'lem  adieu  with  the  most  natural  smile 
his  face  had  worn  for  years  ;  some  of  his  friends  had  advis 
ed  him  to  take  a  driver  ;  this  he  declined,  and  proceeded  on 
his  way  alone.  The  horse  was  high  spirited,  and  had  been 
but  litllo  used  for  months.  In  descending  a  hill  the  speed 
of  IT'S  horse  increased,  and  in  striving  hard  to  stop  him  he 
fainted,  and  was  thrown  with  great  violence  to  the  ground. 

G 


82  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

His  head  struck  on  the  hard  gravel  of  a  turnpike  road,  and 
so  severely  injured  the  vertebrae  of  his  neck  that  he  died  in 
thirty-six  hours  after  the  accident.  The  best  surgical  skill 
was  called  to  his  aid,  but  he  was  beyond  surgery.  Death 
had  thrown  his  dart  at  him,  in  the  only  moment  that  he  had 
seen  his  victim  entirely  sober  for  many  years.  It  was  fierce 
ly,  but  compassionately  done.  His  corpse  was  brought  to  his 
native  town  to  receive  the  funeral  obsequies.  His  death 
lost  as  he  was,  spread  a  gloom  over  the  city.  He  had  been 
a  great  favorite,  and  each  one  said  with  a  sigh,  "  he  was  an 
enemy  only  to  himself."  This  observation  is  often  made  in 
kindness,  but  it  is  absolutely  untrue.  He  who  is  an  enemy 
to  himself,  is,  by  his  baleful  example,  and  by  the  loss  of  him 
self  as  a  member  of  that  community,  which  by  his  exertions 
and  talents  he  might  have  benefitted  and  adorned,  an  enemy 
to  society. 

The  funeral  of  Thomas  C.  Hampton,  Esq.  was  numerous 
ly  attended  by  a  portion  of  all  classes  of  people  in  the  town. 
Men  of  high  standing,  of  his  own  age,  bore  his  pall.  The 
connections  were  but  few,  but  the  mourners  were  numerous. 
It  was  known  that  he  had  left  large  legacies  for  charitable 
purposes.  Among  other  bequests,  was  one  for  the  mainte 
nance  of  a  High  School  for  Females.  The  young  ladies  of 
this,  and  other  schools,  were  invited  to  attend  his  funeral. 
They  formed  a  long  procession,  each  dressed  in  white,  carry 
ing  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  their  hands.  The  hearse  reach 
ed  the  cemetary  ;  the  grave  being  near  one  of  the  gates  of 
the  city  of  the  dead.  The  coffin  shining  with  armorial  bear 
ings,  emblazoned  in  pictures  of  silver,  was  lowered  into  the 
grave,  and  the  sexton,  according  to  custom,  threw  a  few 
shovels  full  of  gravel  and  stones  upon  it, — Good  God  !  how 
distressing  is  that  sound  !  The  procession  then  passed  on, 
and  each  one  looking  into  the  narrow  house  appointed  for  all 


THE   INTEMPERATE.  83 

the  living,  breathed  a  deep  sigh  over  the  ashes  of  a  man 
born  with  talents  to  advance,  and  to  illumine  society.  One 
educated  in  the  first  schools  of  the  age  ;  who  gave  promises 
which  he  never  fulfilled,  and  awakened  hopes  that  were 
never  realized. 

The  procession  of  the  maidens,  passing  the  new  made 
grave,  repaired  to  the  monument  of  Miranda,  and  standing 
around  it,  sung  a  solemn  dirge,  written  by  one  of  her  female 
friends,  to  her  memory.  The  flowers  were  then  strewed 
on  the  ground,  and  over  the  monument,  and  they  proceeded 
in  silence  to  leave  the  cemetary  at  another  gate. 

While  the  young  ladies  were  performing  these  ceremo 
nies,  the  great  mass  of  the  spectators  were  as  motionless  and 
silent  as  those  beneath  their  feet.  The  soldiers,  for  the  Ma 
jor  was  buried  with  military  honors,  stood  with  arms  rever 
sed  until  the  close  of  the  dirge,  and  the  procession  of  females 
was  out  of  sight,  they  then  paid  the  usual  honor  to  a  brave 
man,  who  once  had  taught  them  the  art  of  war. 

I  had  been  his  bosom  friend,  but  we  had  been  estranged 
for  several  years  ;  for  there  is  nothing  more  difficult  to  bear 
than  the  waywardness  and  caprices  of  an  inebriate  man,  who 
expects  every  thing  from  friendship,  and  will  not  make  one 
sacrifice  himself.  We  had  been  more  than  common  friends. 
We  had  travelled  long  journeys,  and  spent  Attic  nights  to 
gether.  We  had  together  been  on  more  than  Alpine  heights 
and  seen  the  gates  of  the  morning  open,  and  the  glorious  sun 
shine  from  the  bosom  of  the  Atlantic  wave.  From  the  same 
hights  we  had  with  tiles  e'opic  aid  watched  the  changes  of 
the  moon,  and  marked  the  courses  of  the  stars,  and  devoutly 
thought  that  we  saw  in  the  heavens,  the  God  who  made 
them.  We  had  together  raked  the  ashes  in  the  urns  of  de 
parted  ages,  for  gems  which  might  be  found  there ;  and  by 
the  power  which  God  has  given  to  the  living  over  the  dead 


84  THE    INTEMPERATE. 

we  called  up  the  shades  of  the  prophets  of  old  to  explain 
their  records;  and  the  historians,  orators,  and  statesmen, 
to  throw  light  on  the  pathway  of  Time.  From  the  twilight 
of  the  past,  we  looked  forward  to  the  coming  years.  The 
remembrance  of  these  hours  at  one  moment,  froze  my  soul 
to  stone,  and  then  melted  it  like  wax  before  the  sun.  In 
this  agony  from  my 

"  Subdued  eyes, 

Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood; 
Drop'd  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 
Their  medicinal  gum." 

It  was  not  so  much  that  one  of  my  earliest  friends  was  dead  ; 
this  is  a  common  evil ;  but  in  the  cause  of  his  death  there  was 
a  delirious  anguish  that  nothing  could  assuage.  He  had 
none  of  those  excuses  so  often  given  for  the  follies  and  crimes 
of  intemperance.  Poverty,  with  her  numerous  brood  of 
evils,  never  entered  his  doors.  No  harpy  of  the  law,  had 
ever  torn  the  pillow  from  under  the  head  of  the  partner  of 
his  bosom.  No  child  had  cried  to  him  in  vain  for  bread. 
No,  his  cradle  was  hung  on  golden  hinges,  and  canopied 
with  silk  ;  and  even  his  hearse  was  ornamented  with  the 
nodding  plumes  of  hereditary  pride.  When  he  found  him- 
self  hastening  to  the  precipice  which  overhung  the  gulf  of 
perdition,  he  made  no  struggle  to  arrest  his  fall ;  but  slid 
onward  as  one  under  the  unfluence  of  the  Circean  cup,  still 
conscious  of  the  certainty  of  destruction.  I  know  not  how 
long  I  might  have  remained  in  painful  contemplation  by  the 
grave  of  my  once  loved  friend,  if  I  had  not  been  reminded 
by  t  those  artists  of  the  spade  and  mattox,  and  the  professors 
of  the  rites  of  the  sepulchre,  that  their  work  was  finished, 
and  the  gates  of  the  cemetary  would  soon  be  closed,  and  £ 
should  be  left  in  darkness  with  the  dead. 


THE  INTEMPERATE.  85 

It  was  many  weeks  before  I  recovered  from  the  shock  in 
flicted  by  this  scene,  and  many  years  elapsed  before  I  ven 
tured  to  record  this  melancholy  tale  ;  and  it  was  written  at 
last  with  a  bleeding  heart,  and  a  reluctant  hand,  sustained 
only  by  a  sense  of  duty. 


THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED. 


"  Go,  and  fathom  the  doep  fountains  of  your  own  mind,  and  find  the  GOD 
who  poured  them  forth.  Follow  next  the  illumined  vapors  of  another's  reason  : 
but  take  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  you,  to  select  the  best  guides— and  chouse 
the  safest  paths." 


IN  a  new  town  in  the  interior  of  our  country,  which  was 
in  a  prosperous  state,  and  where  all  ages  attended  church 
every  Sabbath,  rain  or  shine,  there  lived  a  family  by  the 
name  of  THORNTON.  The  head  of  the  family  had  been  a 
seafaring  man,  and  had  taken  a  decided  part  in  the  Revo 
lutionary  conflict,  both  by  sea  and  land  ;  but,  having  a  large 
family  of  sons,  he  had  come  into  the  country  to  make  them 
farmers,  and  to  keep  them  f;om  following  his  own  profession, 
in.  which  he  had  been  distinguished,  but  did  not  love.  He 
was  anxious  to  give  his  children  a  good  education — but  this 
was  na  easy  affair  in  a  thinly  settled  country.  His  wife 
was  a  woman  of  superior  mind  and  great  moral  virtue.  The 
husband  was  impetuous  arid  irascible,  but  of  elevated  and 
refined  feelings.  The  captain  had  often  undertaken  to  in 
struct  his  children,  but  had  not  patience  enough  to  sustain  the 
task  for  any  length  of  time.  He  had  made  some  attempts 
to  get  a  school-master  in  his  family — but  this  was  no  easy 
matter,  as  his  boys  were  much  more  advanced  in  their  studies 
than  most  other  children  in  the  interior :  but,  a  lucky  chance 
soon  procured  for  his  family  a  teacher  of  the  right  stamp* 


83  THE    INFIDEL    RECLAIMED. 

George  Thornton,  the  fifth  son,  then  just  past  his  twelfth 
year,  on  a  Sunday  noon  was  eating  his  dinner  in  the  church 
yard,  (as  was  the  custom  with  boys  who  had  come  several 
miles  in  the  morning  to  meeting,)  under  the  shade  of  some 
flourishing  tree,  when  an  aged  man,  with  a  miserable-looking 
horse,  dismounted  in  the  highway,  and,  opening  the  gate  of 
the  yard,  led  in  his  pony,  to  feed  upon  the  grass  growing 
most  luxuriantly  over  the  graves  of  the  primitive  fathers 
of  the  village.  The  lad  gazed  on  the  venerable-looking 
stranger,  and  the  thought  struck  him  that  the  rider  might 
be  as  hungry  as  the  horse  :  he  approached  the  gentleman, 
(seated  in  the  shade  of  a  neighboring  tree,)  and  proffered 
a  part  of  his  cold  roasted  chicken  and  broiled  sausages.  It 
was  done  with  so  much  sincerity,  that  the  stranger  thanked 
the  lad,  and  freely  partook  of  his  fare.  The  old  man  ques 
tioned  him  on  the  number  and  grades  of  the  schools  in  the 
town.  His  answers  surprised  the  stranger.  The  one  was 
minute  in  his  inquiries,  and  the  other  as  accurate  as  he  was 
able  to  be  in  his  answers.  The  language  of  the  old  man 
was  so  pure  and  elegant,  that  the  lad  thought  he  had  found 
the  greatest  scholar  of  the  age — and  he  was  not  far  from, 
being  right  in  this  conjecture.  The  conversation  closed 
between  them,  as  the  people  hastened  into  church  :  the  lad, 
having  invited  the  stranger  to  visit  his  father's  house,  four 
miles  distant,  and  getting  the  old  man's  promise  that  he 
would  be  there  to  tea,  he  left  him,  as  he  would  not  accept 
of  an  invitation  to  hear  the  sermon.  This  promise  was- 
fulfilled  :  the  lad  having  made  his  mother  acquainted  with 
the  interview  before  they  left  the  church,  the  family  were 
prepared  to  receive  the  stranger.  The  boys  saw  him 
coming  on  his  Rozinante,  and  were  ready  to  smile,  and 
said  to  each  other,  "  This  is  one  of  our  George's  adven 
tures."  George  stood  at  the  gute,  ready  to  receive  his- 


THE    INFIDEL    RECLAIMED.  89 

guest.  As  he  approached  the  house,  the  lad  said  to  the 
stranger,  "By  what  name,  sir,  shall  1  introduce  you  to  my 
mother  ?"  "  My  name  you  may  say  is  Donald  McDonald, 
from  Scotland."  This  was  sufficient :  by  that  name  he 
was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Thornton  and  the  young  gentlemen, 
and  to  Captain  Thornton  when  he  came  home  :  he  had  taken 
a  circuitous  route  from  church,  to  see  a  sick  friend.  As 
soon  as  George  had  made  his  new  friend  acquainted  with 
the  family,  he  looked  after  Dobbin,  and,  with  rather  ;t  frolic 
some  cast  of  the  eye,  he  enquired  of  the  stranger  if  his  horse 
was  breechy ;  if  he  was,  he  would  put  him  into  the  stable — 
if  not,  into  the  pasture.  "  Let  him  go  into  the  pasture," 
said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  he  is  sober,  and  has  been  cured 
long  since  of  all  propensity  to  dash  over  brooks  or  fences." 
On  his  return  from  the  pasture,  George  found  his  father  and 
the  stranger  in  earnest  conversation  upon  Edinburgh — which 
city  had  been  visited  by  the  captain,  in  some  of  his  voy 
ages.  The  powers  of  the  stranger  seemed  every  moment 
to  develope  themselves  to  the  delight  of  the  family.  His 
acquaintance  with  every  period  of  history  was  to  the  young 
gentlemen  quite  astonishing  ;  and  of  this,  they  were  in  some 
respects  good  judges.  George  did  not  dare,  in  presence  of 
his  mother,  mention  the  classics  ;  she  had  so  often  cautioned 
him  not  to  become  too  proud  on  account  of  his  progress  in 
them ;  but,  in  a  short  walk  with  the  stranger  in  the  gray  of 
the  evening,  he  ventured  to  make  some  allusion  to  a  line  in 
Virgil  :  this  was  caught  by  tho  scholar  with  enthusiasm, 
and  he  quoted  the  following  line  in  the  Bucalies,  and  poured 
out  his  remarks  as  if  he  had  found  a  pupil.  The  next  morn- 
ing,  Captain  Thornton — for  he  was  a  direct  business  man — 
at  the  request  of  his  wife  and  children,  invited  Mr.  McDonald 
to  spend  some  time  with  them,  to  superintend  the  education 
of  his  children — making  him  such  an  offer  for  compensation 


90  THE    INFIDEL    RECLAIMED. 

as  he  could  afford.     This  was  readily  accepted  :  all  was 
arranged — and   Donald    McDonald   entered   on  his  duties. 
The   young   gentlemen   called    him   "  Professor" — as    the 
shortest  and  most  respectful  title  they  could  think  of.     The 
pupils  were  required  to  work  on  the  farm  four  hours  a  day, 
and  the   remainder  of  the   time  they  could  devote  to  the 
school.     The  professor  was  full  of  high  spirits,  and  began 
with   his  pupils  on  a  new  system.     They  were  his  enthu 
siastic  admirers,   and  did  every  thing  to  make  him  happy. 
Many  of  his  lessons  were  given  in  the  pasture  grounds  or 
in  the   woods.     He   gave  practical   lessons  in    surveying, 
without  any  parade.     One  of  the  boys  was  quite  an  inge 
nious  mechanic — and  the  professor  and  this  pupil,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  neighboring  blacksmith  and  joiner,  manu 
facture^  a  pretty  good  chemical  apparatus,  and  the  professor 
gave  lessons  whenever  he  could  get  materials  for  his  experi 
ments.     When  the  labors  of  the  day  were  over,  and  on  the 
coming  on  of  twilight,  then  commenced  the  examination  of 
the  pupils  in  history  and  biography — for  the  teacher  insisted 
that  these  branches  were  necessarily  to  be  studied  together. 
They  commenced  on  Greek  history,   from  the  introduction 
of  letters  by  Cadmus,  and  came  down  to  the  present  time — 
going  back  to  Egypt  and  the  far  East,  whence  it  was  neces 
sary  to  trace  the  origin  of  customs  or  languages.     The 
portion  of  history  next  to  be   discussed  was  then  marked, 
in  order  that  his  pupils  should  be  in  some  measure  prepared. 
The  great  eras  were  dwelt  upon  with  care,  and  the  general 
state  of  the  world  at  those  periods  given.     Battles,  merely 
as  such,  were  of  no  great  account  in  the  professor's  mind, 
and  were  not  dwelt  upon,  unless  they  had  produced  a  great 
effect  on  the  world.     Marathon,  Salamis,  and  Platea — which 
saved  the  liberties  of  Greece,  that  she  might  become  the 
instructor  of  nations — were  read  with  enthusiasm,  and  every 


THE    INFIDEL    RECLAIMED.  91 

distinguished  person  who  fought  in  them  traced  out  with 
admiration.  High  above  the  rest  would  he  place  him  who 
had  fought  in  all  three  battles — the  father  of  tragedy,  the 
mighty  ^Eschylus  ;  and,  while  he  rushed  into  the  midst  of 
the  fight,  he  thundered  out  the  epic  lines  of  the  bard,  as  if 
his  mantle  had  fa'lan  on  him.  From  age  to  age  would  he 
pass,  pouring  out  the  tide  of  eloquence.  It  was  readily  to 
be  seen  that  he  was  a  lover  of  liberty — and,  from  what  he 
would  necessarily  let  fall,  it  was  thought  by  his  pupils,  and 
particularly  by  their  sagacious  mother,  that  he  must  have 
suffered  deeply  in  the  cause  of  freedom  ;  but,  no  enquiiies 
were  ever  pushed — every  one  around  him  had  so  high  a 
respect  for  his  feelings.  It  was  often  remarked,  that  while 
on  English  history,  he  avoided  saying  any  thing  of  the 
administration  of  the  great  man  then  at  the  helm  of  state  in 
Great  Britain — William  Pitt, — although  Captain  Thornton 
would  sometimes  praise  him  as  a  man  of  exalted  talents. 
Of  the  French  Revolution  he  never  spoke.  It  was  be 
lieved  that  circumstances  connected  with  that  event  were 
heavy  on  his  mind. 

In  a  cool  afternoon  he  would  take  his  pupils  into  the  fields 
and  woods  to  botanize — beginning  his  peripatetic  lecture  on 
the  dandelion,  or  some  other  common  flower,  and  ending  on 
some  majestic  tree  of  the  forest.  He  taught  his  pupils  to 
engraft  and  to  bud,  and  led  them  at  once  into  the  art  and 
science  of  both  the  garden  and  the  field.  He  laid  it  down 
as  a  fundamental  rule  in  the  education  of  a  young  American 
gentleman,  that  he  should  ba  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  his  own  country ;  and  for  this  purpose  he 
studied  American  history  again  himself,  in  order  that  he 
might  show  the  wonderful  birth  and  growth  of  the  country. 
He  expatiated  up:m  the  state  of  Christendom  at  the  time  the 
early  settlements  were  made  ;  analyzed  the  moral  and  men. 


92  THE    INFIDEL    RECLAIMED. 

tal  character  of  the  adventurers,  and  showed  the  natural 
advancement  of  their  prosperity,  from  the  means  they  pos 
sessed  and  the  course  they  pursued.  Their  virtues,  their 
errors,  and  mistakes,  were  all  pointed  out  with  discrimi 
nation  and  candor.  He  would  at  times  astonish  Captain 
Thornton,  by  correcting  some  error  in  the  statement  given 
by  historians  of  certain  events  which  that  officer  had  a  perfect 
knowledge  of,  being  himself  engaged  in  the  affair.  The 
civil  as  well  as  political  history  of  the  United  States  was 
familiar  to  him  as  that  of  antiquity,  in  which  he  was  quite 
at  home.  To  give  strength  and  tone  to  voice,  he  made  his 
pupils  declaim  in  the  pastures  and  in  the  woods.  He  pre 
ferred  to  have  his  scholars  select  translations  from  Demos, 
thenes  for  declamation,  rather  than  from  Cicero,  while  they 
were  more  fond  of  the  latter.  He  laid  it  down  as  a  rule, 
that  a  member  of  a  republic  should  be  instructed  to  use,  as 
occasion  might  require,  his  tongue — his  pen — or  sword — 
but,  above  all,  his  tongue, — for  it  takes  the  longer  discipline 
to  make  that  member  do  its  duty  than  the  others.  Thus, 
the  circle  was  going  on  harmoniously  ;  the  pupils  were  more 
rapidly  advancing  in  their  studies  than  those  of  any  other 
school.  The  preceptor  of  a  neighboring  academy,  with  a 
wretched  education  but  of  great  pretensions,  began  to  feel 
mortified  that  the  difference  between  his  pupils  and  the  pro 
fessor's  was  noticed  by  the  sagacious  people  in  the  vicinity. 
One  incident  made  the  preceptor  outrageous  : — The  court 
was  in  session  in  the  town  when  the  academy  was  establish 
ed  ;  and,  on  the  trial  of  a  land  title,  the  accuracy  of  a  former 
survey  was  called  in  question — and  the  court  appointed  the 
preceptor  to  make  a  new  survey.  This  was  more  inaccurate 
than  the  former — and  new  difficulties  arose.  The  court 
now  sent  for  the  professor,  and  appointed  him  surveyor. 
On  his  arrival,  he  stated  that  he,  hearing  of  the  dispute,  had 


THE    INFIDEL    RECLAIMED.  93 

sent  his  pupil,  George  Thornton,  not  fourteen  years  of  age 
who  had  surveyed  the  ground,  and  found  out  the  mistake 
in  the  calculations  of  the  former  surveyor — not  mentioning 
the  preceptor  by  name.  The  lad  was  called,  and  swore  to 
the  accuracy  of  his  survey — and  the  professor  confirmed 
his  statements.  The  chief  justice  looked  at  the  calculations, 
and  intimated  the  probabilities  of  the  causes  of  the  former 
errors,  and  told  the  jury  that -this  latter  survey  was  right. 
This  was  a  severe  blow  to  the  popularity  of  the  mushroom 
institution.  Those  who  .established  it  were  deeply  wounded, 
and  the  preceptor  enraged.  To  make  his  degradation  more 
perfect,  the  counsel  opposed  to  his  survey,  called  him  on 
the  stand  and  examined  him,  putting  such  questions  as  the 
Jad  suggested — which  soon  ended  in  the  confusion  of  the 
popular  preceptor.  This  was  truly  an  unfortunate  affair  for 
the  Thornton  family — for  they  soon  heard  whispers  thrown 
abroad,  that  the  professor  was  a  philosopher  of  the  French 
school ;  and  it  was  thought  had  assisted  Thomas  Paine  to 
write  his  Age  of  Reason.  The  clergyman  of  the  town  in 
which  the  academy  was  situated,  now  recollected  that  he 
had  never  heard  him  say  a  word  in  commendation  of  his 
doctrinal  sermons,  but  had  heard  him  speak  of  the  classical 
taste  shown  in  the  writings  of  a  neighbor  of  the  pulpit,  whose 
reputation  had  been  so  great  as  to  annoy  him.  A  deputation 
of  the  church  soon  arrived  to  visit  Mrs.  Thornton,  who  was 
a  bright  and  shining  light  in  that  body,  to  enquire  into  the 
truth  of  these  rumors.  She  received  them  civilly,  but  an 
swered  them  firmly.  She  said,  that  "she  had  never  question 
ed  the  professor  on  his  religious  creed — for  that  part  of  her 
children's  education  she  should,  whib  they  were  under  her 
roof,  retain  to  herself.  His  conduct  had  been  highly  moral 
and  exemplary  while  he  lived  with  them,  and  no  inquisition 
should  set  upon  his  heresy.  He  was  a  moral  agent,  and 

H 


94  THE    INFIDEL   RECLAIMED. 

had  a  right  to  think  for  himself.  She  believed  that  her  sons 
would  have  cause  to  remember  him  for  good  as  long  as  they 
lived.  We  have,"  added  she,  "  in  years  past,  made  every 
struggle  to  educate  our  children  ;  it  is  all  the  fortune  we  can 
give  them.  We  have  sent  them,  at  great  expense,  to  these 
academies,  and  have  been  entirely  dissatisfied  :  we  now  have 
had  this  learned,  moral  man  in  our  house  for  eighteen  months 
oaly,  and  I  am  a  sufficient  judge  of  their  improvement  to 
say,  that  a  life-time  spent  in  our  academies,  such  as  rise  up 
in  every  village,  would  not  be  equal  to  the  instruction  this 
good  man  has  imparted  to  my  children  in  this  time."  This 
self-constituted  committee  declared  that  she  would  have  to 
answer  here  and  hereafter,  if  she  kept  a  free-thinker  in  her 
house,  to  poison  the  morals  of  her  children,  and  as  an  evil 
example  in  the  household  of  the  faithful.  These  arguments 
did  not  shake  the  constancy  of  Mrs.  Thornton  ;  and  the 
committee  repaired  to  her  own  church,  and  called  a  meet 
ing,  of  which  the  pious  woman  had  notice.  She  would  have 
no  other  person  attend  her,  but  her  young  son  George. 
The  charge  of  fostering  infidelity  was  again  urged  against 
her.  This  she  denied — for  she  knew  nothing  of  the  profes 
sor's  creed.  George  declared,  that  while  he  had  been  under 
the  care  of  the  great  Scotchman,  he  never  suspected  his 
infidelity.  The  church  dismissed  the  charge,  with  no  gentle 
reprimand  to  their  brethren  of  another  church,  for  their 
watchfulness  and  anxiety  to  keep  them  from  error. 

These  wounded  patrons  of  learning,  and  guardians  of 
religious  opinions,  followed  up  these  attacks  by  slanders, 
until  they  were  brought  before  the  court  who  tried  the  land 
cause.  Donald  McDonald  did  not  wish  to  prosecute,  but 
the  high-tempered  Captain  Thornton  insisted  upon  it,  and 
brought  the  traducer  to  terms  by  a  verdict.  The  charge 
of  the  chief  justice  was  admirable  ;  he  developed  the  story 


THE    INFIDEL  RECLAIMED.  95 

of  the  persecution  and  slanders  so  fully,  that  the  jury  gave 
heavy  damages  without  delay.  The  professor  made  an 
exact  account  of  his  expenses — and,  deducting  them  from 
his  judgement,  he  paid  the  whole  balance  over  to  the  trus* 
tees  of  the  academy,  in  order,  as  he  said,  that  good  teachers 
might  be  procured  for  their  institution. 

The  company  of  the  professor  was  now  courted  by  all  the 
scholars  far  and  near,  and  many  offers  were  made  him  to 
leave  the  Thornton  family,  and  take  a  classical  school  him 
self;  but  his  uniform  answer  was — "Not  until  my  boy 
George  goes  to  college — nor  then,  so  long  as  his  mother 
has  a  child  to  educate,  and  wishes  me  to  be  his  preceptor." 
Finding  him  fixed  in  his  delermination,  they  no  longer  dis* 
cussed  the  subject.  So  much  had  the  professor  and  his  steed 
improved  in  appearance,  that  their  identity  could  only  be 
ascertained  by  those  who  had  seen  them  frequently  during 
the  time  they  had  lived  with  the  Thorntons.  The  horse 
indeed  gained  faster  than  his  master — for  he  had  nothing  to 
do  but  to  recruit. 

The  professor  had  announced  to  Captain  Thornton  that 
he  wished  for  books  to  commence  a  course  of  metaphysics 
and  moral  philosophy  with  his  pupils.  These  were  soon 
procured,  and  the  professor  began  a  course  of  lectures  on 
these  studies,  and  invited  Captain  Thornton  and  his  lady  to 
attend.  They  accepted  of  his  invitation  more  readily,  for 
they  now  expected  to  detect  his  creed — as  in  these  courses 
of  instruction  it  is  difficult  to  keep  from  theological  discus 
sion  ;  but  the  professor  never  committed  himself — he  kept 
them  as  distinct  as  possible.  Towards  the  close  of  these 
lectures,  a  general  invitation  was  given  to  the  clergymen 
and  other  professional  men  in  this  and  the  neighboring  towns, 
to  come  and  hear  the  learned  Theban.  The  auditors  pro- 
nouuced  the  lectures  of  great  interest.  On  these  lecture 


9&  THE  INFIDEL    RECLAIMED, 

days,  Captain  Thornton  was  thronged  with  company,  anc? 
showed  his  hospitality  without  any  stint.  The  professor 
retired  as  soon  as  he  had  closed  his  lecture,  having  deter 
mined  never  to  enter  into  any  dispute  with  any  one. 

While  all  things  were  going  on  prosperously,  an  event 
happened  that  threw  misery  and  distress  over  the  professor, 
and  the  whole  family.  In  a  fine  afternoon,  William,  the 
third,  son  of  Mrs.  Thornton,  who  had  been  instructed  in  cml 
engineering  by  the  professor,  a  young  gentleman  of  nearly 
seventeen  years  of  age,  proposed  to  his  instructor  and  some 
visitors,  to  take  the  sail  boat,  and  to  make  an  excursion  on 
the  lake,  which  was  within  full  view  of  Mr.  Thornton's  house. 
Having  been  a  sailor,  the  Captain  kept  boats  and  fishing- 
tackle,  for  his  own,  and  the  amusement  of  his  friends  ;  but 
so  closely  had  his  sons  been  confined  to  their  studies  that  they 
had  partaken  sparingly  of  this  amusement.  The  professor- 
had  when  his  pupils  were  in  the  field,  often  taken  a  smalK 
boat,  and  paddling  to  some  fishing  spot,  caught  a  mess  of 
pickerel  or  perch,  for  breakfast.  He  had  taught  the  boys- 
to  strip  a  large  elm  tree  after  it  had  been  cut  down,  from 
the  butt  to  the  utmost  twig,  by  hitching  the  oxen  to  the  loos-- 
ened  bark  at  the  butt,  and  turning  the  whole  inside  out  to  the 
top.  By  stones  tied  to  the  lower  end  of  the  bark  it  would 
sink  in  the  water,  and  then  the  top  would  make  a  shade  at  the 
bottom^  where  fish  would  bite  at  any  hour  of  the  day.  The 
professor  had  been  in  his  little  boat,  and  brought  home  his 
basket  full  of  fine  fish,  and  had  no  great  inclination  to  go 
out  again,  but  William  was  importunate,  and  the  old  man 
consented  to  be  one  of  the  party.  Jt  was  indeed  a  lovely 
day,  and  the  surface  of  the  lake  was  only  agitated  by  a  gen 
tle  breeze,  sufficient  only  to  take  the  boat  two  or  three  mires 
an  hour.  The  Captain  seldom  entrusted  the  helm  or  his 
boat  to  any  other  hands  than  his  own  ;  but  he  happening  to 


THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED.  97 

l)e  engaged,  thought  his  man,  John,  who  was  quite  discreet 
in  carrying  sail,  would  answer  to  be  steers-man  on  such  a 
pleasant  day.  George  was  invited  to  join,  but  finding  that 
his  father  was  not  to  be  with  them,  declined  being  one  of  the 
party.  They  took  the  boat  in  high  spirits.  A  small  boy 
at  the  landing,  belonging  to  a  neighboring  town,  was  stand 
ing  near,  and  begged  to  be  permitted  to  have  a  sail ;  to  this 
William  consented,  and  they  left  the  shore  with  him.  For 
several  hours  they  were  seen  on  the  lake  under  easy  sail  ; 
although  near  the  distant  mountain  tops,  the  clouds  had  the 
appearance  of  a  squall ;  but  not  for  some  hours  to  come. 
As  the  clouds  thickened,  Captain  Thornton,  who  had  kept 
up  some  of  his  sea-faring  habits,  hoisted  his  signal  for  the 
boat  to  come  in,  but  not  in  season.  The  tornado  come  down 
the  lake  of  a  sudden,  and  bore  a  threatning  aspect.  William 
advised  making  towards  a  small  island  near  them,  and  wait 
ing  until  the  danger  had  passed  ;  but  the  man  John,  seeing 
the  signal  was  hoisted  for  making  the  landing,  did  not  readi 
ly  acceed  to  it ;  in  this  state  of  indecision,  the  boat  was  struck 
by  a  whirlwind  sweep,  and  capsized.  The  Captain  was 
looking  through  his  spy-glass,  and  when  the  boat  upset,  he 
dropped  down  the  glass,  called  some  of  his  men  and  hastened 
to  the  lake,  took  small  boats  and  came  to  the  relief  of  the  un 
fortunate  boat's  crew.  Mrs.  Thornton  took  up  the  glass, 
and  clearly  saw  William  assist  the  professor  on  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  boat,  and  then  some  of  the  others.  Her  son  then, 
which  seemed  to  her  mysterious,  left  the  boat,  swam  a  short 
distance  from  her,  and  seemed  trying  to  assist  some  one"; 
she  saw  him  go  down  and  rise  no  more.  Her  eye  lost  its 
light  and  she  dropped  the  glass,  and  exclaimed,  William  is 
drowned  !  The  domestics  looked  and  saw  those  on  the  bot 
tom  of  the  boat  taken  off  in  safety.  The  horses  were  put 
to  the  wagon,  and  the  dripping,  distressed  objects  were 

H  2 


99  THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED. 

brought  to  the  house.  The  Captain  had  joined  those  who 
had  started  to  rescue  the  bodies  of  those  who  had  sunk. — 
Numerous  boats  soon  were  spread  on  the  lake  for  that 
purpose.  These  were  increasing,  for  many  had  witnessed 
the  scene.  The  good  people  soon  took  Captain  Thornton 
to  the  house.  It  was  a  melancholy  group.  The  professor 
was  frantic  ;  he  tore  his  white  hair,  charged  himself  with  be 
ing  the  cause  of  the  whole  catastrophe,  for  not  taking  Wil 
liam's  advice  in  steering  for  the  Island,  as  he  recommend 
ed  the  man  John  to  do  ;  and  also  charged  himself  with  hav 
ing  intimated  that  the  boy  should  be  taken  into  the  boat.  It 
was  in  attempting  to  save  that  boy.  he  exclaimed,  that  Wil 
liam  lost  his  life.  The  old  gentleman  was  conveyed  to  bed 
in  a  state  of  delerium.  One  neighbor  come  in  after  another, 
and  the  house  was  filled  with  lamentations.  The  darkness 
stole  over  them  ;  when  George  thinking  that  darkness  and 
dispair  were  often  connected  in  poetry,  and  perhaps  in  philos- 
phy,  ran  and  lighted  the  candles,  and  placed  them  on  the 
table.  It  had  at  once  an  effect  on  the  utterance  of  their 
grief,  if  it  did  not  assuage  their  anguish.  Capt.  Thornton  had 
thrown  himself  into  a  great  chair,  and  was  silent ;  his  eye 
was  sunless  and  vacant;  his  lips  were  close  as  if  he  were 
struggling  with  corporal  pain.  He  was  the  picture  of  a  sea 
commander,  who  had  been  overpowered  with  superior  force, 
and  was  attempting  to  bear  up  under  his  misfortune,  but 
found  his  moral  courage  not  equal  to  his  corporal  bravery. 
There  was  a  tear  in  the  mother's  eye,  but  she  uttered  no 
groan,  or  made  any  complaint ;  once  in  a  while  a  text  of 
scripture  was  on  her  lips — such  as  "the  Lord  gave,  the  Lord 
has  taken  away,  blessed  is  the  name  of  the  Lord."  She  cal 
led  George,  and  went  into  the  professor's  room,  and  admin 
istered  to  him  an  anodyne,  for  he  was  in  spasms.  She  cast 
her  eye  to  ward  the  lake  and  it  was_a  sea  of  fire  ,•  immediate- 


THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED.  99 

Jy  a  roar  of  thunder  was  heard  over  the  waters,  passing  to 
the  gaps  of  the  mountains,  and  after  numerous  reverberations, 
returning  with  awful  echoes.     Brave  as  she  was,  this  was 
terrific  to  Mrs.  Thornton.     George  saw  that  his  mother  was 
ignorant  of  the  cause  of   that  awful  sight,    soon  informed 
her  that  there  were  a  great  number  of  persons  in  boats  with 
torches  and  drag  nets  on  the  lake,  trying  to  find  the  body  of 
his  dear  brother  William  ;  and  the  field  pieces  were  fired,  be 
lieving  that  their  discharge   might  cause  the  body  to  rise  to 
the  surface  of  the  water  ;    "  it  is  not,  said  he,  "dear  mother, 
now,  for  me  to  explain  this  to  you,  but  it  sometimes  has  the 
desired  effect,  but  I  fear  it  will  not  now  ;  the  expanse  of  the 
waters  is  too  great  for  the  experiment.     While  George  was 
in  the  presence  of  his  mother,  he  so  far  caught  her  spirit  as 
to  sustain  himself  most  wonderously  ;  but  he  often  escaped 
to  the  door  to  indulge  in  a  flood  of  tears.     H-e  felt  that  now 
William  was  gone  to  his  grave,  new  duties  rested  upon  him, 
His  elder  brothers  were  then  absent  on  a  journey  to  survey  a 
large  tract  of  land,  and  were  soon  to  leave  the  family  roof. 
to  act  their  parts  in  the  world.     The  fourth  day  after  the 
fatal  accident,  the  bodies  were  found,  and  carried  to  a  neigh 
bor's  house  for  burial,  fearing  that  the  sad  ceremonies  would 
be  fatal  to  the  professor.     The  boy  was  grappled  to  the  body 
of  William,  and  had  been  the  cause  of  his  death.     The  elder 
brothers  were  at  home  at  the   funeral,  and  now,  more  than 
ever,  were  desirous  of  going  out  into  the    world.     They 
thought  their  brother  William  a  young  man  of  uncommon 
promise,  in  the  line  he  had  chosen,  and  was  also  very  amia 
ble.     They  both  attempted  by  every  means   in  their  power 
to  soften  the  feelings  of  the  professor  ;  they  had  supposed 
him  a  man  of  iron,  and  wero  astounded  that  he  could  feel  so 
much  for  a  pupil.     They  did  not  think  a  philosopher  could 
be  so  much  a  man  of  feeling.     Good  Mrs.  Thornton  was 


100  THE  INFIDEL    RECLAIMED. 

constant  in  her  attentions  to  the  instructor  of  her  children, 
and  by  slow  degrees,  he  seemed  to  awaken  to  life.  When 
he  first  sat  up  in  his  bed,  he  was  found  making  Latin  and 
Greek  verses  to  the  memory  of  William,  and  sent  George  to- 
read  them  to  his  mother,  in  English.  The  first  thing  after 
these  classical  lines,  was  a  wish  expressed  to  have  selected 
for  his  examination,  the  passages  of  scripture  which  Mrs. 
Thornton  had  repeated  in  her  distress,  and  all  such  as  she 
had  drawn  consolation  from,  while  she  was  under  the  first 
overwhelming  agony  of  affliction.  These  were  brought 
to  him  by  George,  and  while  he  was  in  bed  read  to  him. — 
Afterward  he  took  them  to  read  b_y  himself.  These  seemed 
to  arrest  his  attention  for  a  few  hours  in  the  day.  The 
Scriptures  now  became  his  daily  study.  He  looked  into 
the  deeps  profound.  Some  one  suggested  to  him,  that  if  he 
would  advise,  he  had  better  send  for  the  clergyman  of  the 
parish.  He  smiled  upon  his  adviser,  it  was  every  thing  but 
a  smile  of  complacency.  A  boy  to  teach  a  philosopher  his 
God  !  and  he  turned  his  head  from  all  such  interference. — 
When  commentaries  were  offered  him,  he  exhibited  the  same 
feeling.  He  was  visited  by  the  greater  part  of  the  clergy, 
each  one  hoping  and  wishing  to  be  the  instrument  of  the 
philosopher's  ^conversion.  When  they  come  to  grapple 
with  him,  it  reminded  one,  of  the  tales  of  the  crusades,  when 
the  young  military  chieftains  of  the  Christian  army,  were 
seized  with  a  wish  to  contend  with  the  great  Salad  in  of  the 
Saracen'  host,  who  honored  their  daring,  at  the  same  time 
he  held  in  derision  their  strength.  Saladin  in  an  instant  dis 
armed  them,  and  spared  them  to  return  to  their  native 
land,  and  to  the  embraces  of  their  friends.  Among  the  host 
of  the  Christian  force  who  sought  the  philosopher,  there  waa 
no  Cour  de  Lion,  that  for  a  moment  ventured  to  lift  his  bat 
tle  axe  against  the  Painim  champion.  The  only  one  the 


THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED.  101 

professor  would  condescend  to  reason  with,  was  the  Christian 
woman,  Mrs.  Thornton.  Every  day,  he,  in  the  most  sub 
missive  manner,  talked  with  her.  He  often,  as  he  after 
wards  declared,  was  lost  in  wonder  in  contemplating  this 
problem  :  "  What  principle  could  it  be  that  could  sustain  a 
fond  and  doating  mother,  under  such  a  trial,  when  a  bold 
seaman  and  an  old  philosopher  sunk  like  infants  under  the 
tide  of  grief,— can  it  be  from  learning  ?  No  ;  can  it  be 
from  hardihood  ?  No.  Can  this  feeble  woman  have  the  soul 
of  a  lion,  as  that  brave  naval  hero  has?  Can  she  reason  as 
one  bred  in  the  schools  :>f  philosophy,  as  I  have  been  ?  No. 
Then  there  must  be  some  higher  principle  that  sustains  her. 
What  is  it?  She  calls  it  religion.  I  will  examine  it  fairly, 
and  trust  to  God  that  I  may  reach  the  truih."  Day  after 
day,  he  brooded  over  the  subject,  and  read  every  thing  the 
good  woman  put  into  his  hands.  Some  times  she  gave  him 
funeral  tokens,  and  funeral  sermons ;  what  often  he  thought 
as  destitute  of  genius  as  the  common  bawlings  of  the  hired 
mourner.  He  compared  them  with  the  consolation  found 
in  his  Virgil  and  Horace,  and  they  sunk  as  inferior  compo 
sitions  ;  but  not  so,  the  passages  of  Scripture,  she  gave  him  ; 
he  found  in  them  a  depth  of  thought,  and  a  height  of  moral 
grandeur  unknown  to  him  before,  and  it  surprised  him,  that 
he  had  not  previously  noticed  them.  They  entered  so  far  into 
eternity,  that  he  liked  to  follow  them  beyond  the  goal  of  phi 
losophy,  through  the  track  of  Godhead.  Mrs.  Thornton 
never  crowded  the  subject  upon  him,  or  hardly  adverted  to 
it,  unless  the  sage  began  it,  and  then  she  would  make  a  slight 
remark  upon  the  pride  of  human  wisdom,  and  instance  it  in 
the  life  of  St.  Paul.  In  a  few  weeks  he  come  out  to  attend 
prayer,  which  were  forms  written  by  an  ancestor  of  the 
good  woman,  and  which  were  read  by  herself  or  one  of  her 
children,  accompanied  by  a  lessor  from  the  Old  or  Now 


102  THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED. 

Testament.  These  devotions  had  nothing  of  rant  or  cant 
in  them.  The  simplicity  and  good  sense  of  these  devotions, 
which  he  had  never  heard  before,  struck  him  agreeably, 
and  he  come  out  constantly  to  hear  them.  William  was  not 
mentioned  in  the  family,  unless  some  stranger  or  the  profes 
sor  brought  up  the  subject.  He  never  would  give  another 
lectuie  on  chemistry  ;  but  put  aside  all  the  apparatus  that 
he  and  William  had  together  manufactured.  George  j  was 
now  alone  his  care,  as  understood  by  his  employers ;  but 
he  began  to  notice  the  two  little  boys,  and  took  pleasure  in 
hearing  their  infantile  lessons.  These  urchins  had  never 
been  allowed  to  approach  him  from  a  belief  that  they  would 
be  troublesome ;  but  now  they  were  suffered  by  him  to 
climb  on  his  knees,  play  with  his  white  hairs,  and  giggle  un 
til  he  laughed  with  them.  When,  after  dinner,  he  took  his 
siestere,  the  playful  little  fellows  would  softly  enter  his  room 
and  fan  away  the  flies,  an  d  if  they  perceived  that  he  was 
waking  up  would  run  off;  but  not  before  he  saw  what  they 
were  about.  The  next  thing  that  Mrs.  Thornton  knew,  he 
was  selecting,  and  making  hymns  to  teach  his  new  charge. 
The  matron  saw  their  delicate  piety,  and  poetical  sweetness 
and  encouraged  the  children  to  commit  them  to  memory. 
One  day  the  professor  enquired  of  Mrs.  Thornton,  if  she 
knew  where  he  could  find  Paine's  Age  of  Reason,  for,  ad- 
ded  he,  I  wish  to  make  some  commentaries  on  that  work 
which  1  have  not  seen  for  many  years.  The  matron  replied 
I  can  hand  it  to  you,  my  brother  had  it  here  some  time  ago, 
and  I  persuaded  him  to  trust  it  to  my  keeping  ;  this  he  did, 
and  I  took  occasion  to  read  it  attentively,  and  if  I  ever  had  a 
doubt  before  of  my  faith,  the  perusal  of  this  book  dissipated 
it.  I  knew  Mr.  Paine  when  he  was  a  very  popular  man,  in 
Philadelphia,  and  that  time  he  made  himself  very  pleasant 
in  the  society  of  young  ladies,  by  his  conversation,  his  play- 


THE  INFIDEL   RECLAIMED.  103 

ful  conundrums,  and  poetical  effusions  ;  but,  at  that  time  we 
had  heard  nothing  of  his  infidelity  ;  I  read  the  work  without 
any  prejudice  against  the  man,  I  was  taught  to  revere,  as  a 
most  disinterested  patriot ;  but  in  this  work,  he  neither  ex 
hibited  the  dignity  of  learning,  nor  the  language  and  courte 
sy  of  a  gentleman. 

The  professor  took  the  book,  and  nothing  more  was  said 
about  it  for  several  months,  when  he  returned  it,  and  on 
presenting  Mrs.  Thornton  with  a  manuscript,  he  observed, 
"  I  wish  you  to  read  this,  and  keep  it  for  George.  She  took 
the  first  opportunity  to  give  it  a  thorough  examination.  It 
was  an  answer  to  the  "  Age  of  Reason."  The  first  part 
was  a  learned  history  of  all  the  religions  of  the  world  ;  their 
beauties  and  deformities  were  pointed  out  with  discrimination 
and  candor,  and  their  influences  on  the  minds  of  their  fol 
lowers  philosophically  considered.  The  state  of  the  Pagan 
World  at  the  Advent  of  the  Messiah,  was  fully  shown,  and 
the  changes  which  were  soon  made  fully  noticed.  The  evi 
dence  in  support  of  the  Christian  Religion,  was  arranged  in 
proper  order,  and  followed  by  arguments  of  great  acuteness 
and  power.  He  explained  many  things  which  had  been 
stumbling  blocks  for  ages,  by  his  deep  researches  in  oriental 
literature.  He  brought  together  all  the  scintillations  of  Heav 
enly  fire,  scattered  through  the  New  Testament,  and  they 
burned  with  intense  radience  on  his  altar  of  devotion.  With 
great  skill  he  proved  the  harmony  of  the  Gospels,  by  their 
seeming  discrepancies,  and  showed  the  purity  and  value  of 
evangelical  truth,  by  its  elevation  above  the  common  cur 
rent  of  sentiment.  Armed  at  all  points,  he  left  no  difficulty 
unsubdued,  but  grappled  with  all  suggested  by  Paine  and 
others,  as  a  bounden  duty.  He  stopped  not  in  his  pathway, 
to  worship  Calvin  or  Luther,  or  any  of  the  earlier  fathers  of 
the  Church.  He  considered  them  only  as  great  expounders 


104  THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED. 

of  truth,  and  not  inspired  guides.  Mrs.  Thorn'.on  could  hard 
ly  trust  her  own  senses,  on  reading  this  manuscript,  nor 
could  any  thing  exceed  her  delight  on  being  assured  that  the 
instructor  of  her  children  was  not  wandering  in  the  doubts 
of  a  proud  philosophy.  She  had  never  glanced  at  the 
subject  with  him.  With  this  manuscript  was  another,  giv 
ing  some  account  of  himself,  which  he  entrusted  her  with  ; 
but  not  to  be  made  public  while  he  was  living.  He  stated 
that  he  bore  an  assumed  name,  that  he  was  bred  in  Edin- 
burg,  and  had  spent  most  of  his  life  within  the  College  walls  ; 
that  he  had  received  the  degrees  of  M.  D.  and  L.  L.  D., 
and  was  a  Professor  of  Chemistry  at  the  time  of  his  leaving 
that  country.  The  causes  of  his  exile  was  also  explained  ; 
there  was  a  society  formed  in  the  University,  which,  at  first, 
was  entirely  of  a  literary  nature,  but  when  the  French  Revo- 
lution  broke  out,  this  subject  was  freely  discussed,  and,  of 
course,  both  religion  and  politics  could  not  be  avoided.  As 
the  scenes  in  this  great  drama  followed  each  other  in  rapid 
succession ;  the  discussions  grew  more  frequent,  and  often 
ended  in  fierce  contentions.  The  British  Government  was 
alarmed,  and  kept  strict  watch  over  every  germ  of  freedom 
that  might  hasten  on  a  spirit  of  reform,  or  perhaps,  a  revo 
lution.  Pitt  watched  with  the  eye  of  a  lynx  all  seats  of 
learning,  for  he  knew  that  from  the  French  Academy  had 
sprung  in  no  small  measure,  the  evils  the  nation  was  then 
suffering.  There  were  extra-loyal  subjects  enough  in  Scot 
land  to  aid  hirn  in  this  espionage.  Some  few  persons  who  spoke 
freely,  more  from  a  pride  of  the  freedom  of  speech,  than 
from  a  desire  to  take  a  part  in  the  politics  of  the  day,  were 
rudely  attacked  as  enemies  to  our  country,  and  to  our  reli 
gion.  We  resented  this  unjust  treatment,  and  were  soon  in 
open  war  with  many.  After  Thomas  Muir  was  tried  and 
convicted  without  evidence  of  any  treasonable  intention,  sev- 


THE  INFIDEL    RECLAIMED.  105 

era!  of  us  were  hurried  away  by  our  friends  to  places  of 
safety.  Most  of  us  found  our  way  to  France.  I  remained 
there  until  I  saw  every  outrage  committed  under  the  name 
of  liberty,  and  then  repaired  to  the  United  States.  I  spent 
a  year  or  more  in  the  cities  of  the  Atlantic,  'and  finding  no 
comfort  in  this,  I  determined  to  travel  through  the  interior. 
To  do  this  I  took  a  humble  appearance  in  clothes,  and  horse 
From  choice,  hot  necessity,  and  was  on  my  travels  when  your 
'son  found  me  in  the  church  yard,  and  invited  me  to  your 
mansion,  in  which  I  have  been  happier  than  I  thought  I 
could  ever  have  been  while  an  exile  from  my  country.  I 
can  go  home,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  returning 
to  Scotland,  but  my  friends  are  many  of  them  dead,  and  my 
acquaintances  were  mostly  confined  to  'the  University.  I 
Visit  the  City  of  Edinburgh  in  my  dreams,  and  all  things  are 
pleasant,  perhaps  more  so  than  I  should  find  them,  were  I 
actually  to  visit  the  scenes  of  my  youth  and  manhood.  I 
shall  not  leave  you  until  my  pupil  George,  has  gone  to  the 
University,  and  probably  not  until  my  little  ones  have  be 
gun  Erasmus,  and  my  dear  madam,  sometimes  I  have  a 
presentiment  that  I  shall  find  a  resting  place  along  side  of 
William  ;  but  it  is  not  well  to  pursue  these  subjects,  for  they 
throw  a  gloom  over  the  day  of  sunshine  which  we  ought  to 
renj"oy  as  it  passed,  for  we  cannot  recall  past  time.  It  was 
•only  once  in  the  annals  of  human  life,  that  the  shadow  travel. 
Ted  back  on  the  dial  of  Ahaz." 

George  now  entered  college  on  an  advance  standing,  and 
was  so  well  prepared  that  he  at  once  took  a  high  rank  in  his 
class.  The  value  of  such  a  tutor  as  he  had  been  fortunate 
enough  to  have  met  with,  was  seen  and  acknowledged  by 
the  faculty  of  the  College,  as  well  as  by  the  class.  While 
George  was  gaining  honors  in  College,  the  little  ones  at  home 
were  learning  with  that  rapidity  children  generally  do,  who 

I 


106  THE  INFIDEL    RECLAIMED. 

love  their  teachers.  The  schoolmaster  had  to  take  the  chil 
dren  into  the  fields  and  woods  for  exercise,  for  they  would 
stay  in  the  house  all  day  unless  the  professor  went  out  with 
them. 

When  George  graduated,  he  was  appointed  to  deliv 
er  an  English  oration.  He  insisted  that  the  professor 
should  join  his  father's  family  to  attend  commencement ;  to 
this  he  acceded,  and  come  with  them  the  day  before  com 
mencement.  When  it  become  known  that  the  great  scholar 
who  had  instructed  George  Thornton,  was  in  the  town,  the 
class  about  graduating  requested  to  be  introduced  to  him  ; 
this  was  arranged,  and  the  interview  was  delightful.  One 
of  the  class  in  behalf  of  the  whole,  made  him  a  most  respect 
ful  and  appropriate  address  expressing  their  high  satisfaction 
of  seeing  so  ripe  a  scholar  among  the  learned,  who  had  come 
to  honor  the  commencement.  This  was  answered  by  the 
learned  sage  in  a  dignified  and  affectionate  manner ;  he 
pointed  out  the  value  of  knowledge,  and  the  way  to  at 
tain  it ;  told  them  "  that  now  their  education  was  finished, 
their  studies  were  to  begin ;"  congratulated  them  on  being 
born  in  a  country  which  was  growing  for  them  faster  than 
scholars  could  multiply,  and  that  all  would  find  sufficient  em 
ployment  ;  and  closed  by  telling  them  that  their  country's 
honor  depended  more  upon  them  than  they  were  aware  of, 
and  by  leaving  them  his  blessing.  On  commencement  day 
the  professor,  by  invitation  from  college  government,  took 
his  seat  on  the  stage  with  the  Faculty  and  Trustees.  On 
that  clay  he  surprised  his  friends  by  his  extraordinary  atten 
tion  to  dress,  for  he  wore  the  full  costume  of  a  Regius  pro 
fessor.  George  was  the  valedictory  orator,  and  acquitted 
himself  to  the  delight  of  his  friends,  and  to  the  admiration  of 
every  one.  He  delicately  alluded  to  the  agency  the  vener 
able  stranger  had  had  in  his  education,  and  laid  an  offering 


THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED.  107 

of  gratitude  at  his  feet,  as  he  was  about  to  say  farewell  to  all* 
The  president  understanding-  some  of  the  passages  in  the  life 
of  the  professor  from  Mrs.  Thornton,  and  his  true  name,  for 
all  concealment  was  at  an  end,  at  the  close  of  the  day  con- 
ferred  the  additional  honorary  degree  of  L.  L.  D.  on  James 
Brown  Wallace,  M.  D.,  L.  L.  D.,  Edinburgh,  Scotland. 
George  and  his  mother  shed  tears  of  joy,  and  the  whole 
class  of  graduates  were  on  the  point  of  huzzaing  in  the 
church.  This  was  the  most  memorable  day  in  the  life  of 
George  Thornton,  now  a  man  of  middle  age,  who  has  since 
seen  much  of  life.  Even  Captain  Thornton  congratulated 
the  professor,  by  calling  him  Admiral,  with  a  new  star  on 
his  breast,  and  it  would  be  in  vain  to  say  that  the  eyes  of 
the  veteran  did  not  twinkle  with  pleasure.  Mrs.  Thornton 
was  afraid  it  would  be  too  much  for  his  nerves  ;  but  most 
constitutions  bear  pleasure  better  than  pain  ;  the  old  doctor 
had  not  been  so  well  for  many  years,  as  he  was  for  months 
after  that  eventful  journey.  He  never  mentioned  his  own 
honors,  but  gave  the  neighbors  a  full  account  of  those  be 
stowed  on  George. 

It  were  idle  to  detail  too  much.  George  read  law,  and 
then  by  the  advice  and  assistance  of  his  teacher,  made  a 
tour  through  Europe.  His  instructions  given  him  by  the 
doctor,  were  so  minute,  that  he  spent  one  year  more  than 
others  who  go  over  the  same  ground,  in  examining  such 
things  as  his  patron  pointed  out  to  him.  George  took  pas 
sage  from  Alexandria,  having  spent  nearly  a  year  in  Egypt 
and  the  Holy  land,  and  of  course  he  had  not  heard  from 
home  for  a  long  time.  He  reached  the  American  shore  in 
the  night,  and  finding  the  stage  would  start  at  the  early  dawn 
of  the  morn,  he  took  passage,  and  reached  his  native  town 
late  in  the  evening.  He  stopped  at  the  stage  house,  and  en 
gaged  a  boy  and  wagon  to  take  him  to  Captain  Thornton's. 


108  THE  INFIDEL  RECLAIMED. 

The  boy  drove  gently  in  silence;  the  moon  shone  with  that, 
clearness  that  always  give  a  solemn  tone  to  the  reflecting 
mind,  and  George  was  more  than  usually  melancholy. — 
Only  those  who  have  experienced  such  an  hour,  can  under 
stand  the  feelings  it  produces.  As  they  passed  the  grave 
yard,  he  beconed  the  boy  to  stop,  and  he  clambered  over 
the  wall  and  went  to  the  grave  of  his  brother  "William  ;  along 
side  of  this  were  two  others  of  full  length.  He  struck  his 
breast  in  agony  and  exclaimed,  Oh  God  !  in  one  of  these 
rests  my  mother — in  the  other  my  father  !  but  he  at  once 
saw  that  they  were  on  either  side  of  William's  grave,  and 
said  to  himself,  "  Oh,  no ;  this  is,  not  according  to  the  fashion 
of  burial  in  my  native  land.  My  parents  would  have  been 
placed  side  by  side ;  it  is  the  Last  abode  of  my  patron,  and 
my  friend."  On  enquiry,  the  boy  confirmed  his  suspicions, 
and  added,  "  you  have  a  new  mother  at  the  Captain's,  and 
all  the  folks  say  that  she  is  not  fit  to  take  the  place  of  the 
first  one."  This  was  enough.  He  ordered  the  boy  to  drive 
him  back  to  the  stage  house,  and  there  spent  a  restless  night. 
In  the  morning,  he  rode  over  to  see  his  father,  and  his  young- 
er  brothers,  DOW  grown  fine  intelligent  lads.  His  father 
Deceived  him  with  ooen  arms,  but  felt  no  little  awkwardness 
in  introducing  to  him  a  woman,  to  be  called  mother.  This 
he  would  not  do,  at  the  hazard  of  immolation  on  the  refusal. 
There  were  many  who  were  anxious  to  give  him  the  par 
ticulars  of  his  mother's  death.  She  at  fifty- seven  years  of 
age,  found  her  health  declining,  and  prepared  herself  to  die, 
only  wishing  to  see  her  son  George  once  more,  if  it  was  the 
will  of  God,  if  not,  she  was  resigned.  As  she  grew  weak, 
the  doctor  read  to  her  portions  of  Scripture  daily,  and  such 
other  works  as  she  wished  to  hear  read,  but  did  not  venture 
to  allude  to  her  situation,  unless  she  commenced  the  conver 
sation,  for  he  never  lost  the  awe  he  felt  for  the  majesty  of 


THE  INFIDEL    RECLAIMED:  109 

her  virtues.     She  gradually  sunk  to  the  grave  in  peace, 
longing  to  leave  this  world  of  sorrow  and  be  at  rest.     At 
her  death,  the  professor  promised  that  he  would  not  leave  the 
younger  boys  until  they  were  fitted   for  the  counting  house 
or  college,  if  God  spared  his  life.     He  collected   composure 
enough   from  her  example,  to  sketch  the  character  of  his 
friend  with  great  force  and  delicacy  ;  but  it  was  the  last  ef 
fort  of  his  pen  ;  he  never  again  took  ji  in  hand,  when  this 
was  finished.     He  lingered  along  from  day  to  day,  for  the 
space  of  about  three  months,  and  expired  in  an  apoplectic 
fit,  as  it  was  said  ;  but  it  was  from  the  heart-break,  a  more 
common  death  than  is  generally  imagined.     He  had  left   a 
sealed  package  for  his  son,  as  he  called  him,  George  Thorn- 
ton,  in  which  was  found  a  will,  bequeathing  to  his  adopted 
child,  his  books,  papers,   and  a  pretty  little  fortune.     The 
step  dame,  when  she  heard  this,  was  in  a  rage,  and  advised 
her  husband  to  bring  in  a  bill  against  the  estate,  for  many 
years  board ;  but  the  Captain  had  too  much  sound  sense,  to 
be  guided  by  such  advice.     Yet  such  was  her  indignation, 
that  it  became  uncomfortable  for   the  heir  to  remain  in  his 
father's  house  ;  and  he  quit  it  for  the  tavern,  in  order  to  set. 
tie  his  estate  in  peace.     He  erected   tomb  stones  over  the 
graves   of  his    mother,  brother,  and  friend  ;  and   returned 
home  no  more  until  his  step-dame  had  ceased  to  trouble  the 
living.     George  Thornton  has  now  this  answer  to  the  "  Age 
of  Reason,"  and  the  minute  progress  of  belief  in  the  mind  of 
the  philosopher,  who  had  come  from  the  twilight  of  Infideli 
ty,  to  the  noon-day  sun  of  the  Christian's  Hopes. 


THE    CORRUPTED. 


"  In  the  name  of  God  most  merciful — I  swear  by  the  sun  and  its  brightness  ;  by 
the  moon  when  she  followetn  him  ;  by  the  day  when  it  showelh  its  splendor ;  by 
the  night  when  it  covereth  him  with  darkness ;  by  the  earth,  and  Him  who  spreaa 
eth  it  forth  ;  by  the  soul,  and  him  who  perfectly  formed  it,  and  inspired  into  the 
same  its  faculty  of  distinguishing,  and  power  of  choosing  wickedness  or  piety— 
that  he  who  hath  purified  himself  shall  be  happy,  and  he  who  has  corrupted  his 
soul  shall  be  miserable." — Koran. 


THE  form  and  character  of  the  instruction  received  by  an 
individual  in  the  course  of  obtaining  an  education,  more  than 
the  amount  of  information  required  by  him,  give  a  tone  to 
the  moral  and  intellectual  powers  he  may  possess.  Indis 
criminate  reading  brings  on  as  many  diseases  to  the  mind  as 
gross  and  indiscriminate  feeding  does  to  the  body.  There 
is  hardly  a  mind  in  society,  from  the  highest  to  the  humblest 
that  is  not  more  or  less  influenced  by  this  latitude  of  indul 
gence,  in  coursing  at  pleasure  the  fields  of  literature.  It  is 
deplorable  to  see  youths,  whose  diet  is  regulated  by  a  wise 
physician,  allowed  in  their  reading,  to  ramble  over  hill  and 
dale,  meadow  and  woodland,  to  gather  flowers  for  themselves 
without  a  guide ;  often  taking  the  most  poisonous  of  all,  al 
lured  by  the  brilliancy  of  their  colors,  and  at  the  same  time 
neglecting  the  salutary  and  medicinal  ones,  being  less  attrac 
tive  to  the  senses.  The  literature  of  the  age  is  full  of"  thril 
ling  sentiments,  of  stirring  incidents,  of  rapturous  glow,  of 


112  THE  CORRUPTED. 

unheard  of  suffering"  and  all  that  sort  of  machinery  to- 
swell  the  bosom  with  emotion,  and  to  fill  the  eye  with  tears. 
This  inundation  of  poisonous  confectionary,  is  distressing  to 
those  who  love  wholesome  food  for  body  and  mind.  Intern* 
perance  and  consumption  slay  thousands  daily,  or  rob  them 
at  least  of  the  joys  of  life.  Still  the  world  is  on  the  watch 
against  these  enemies  of  the  human  race ;  but  who  thinks  of 
stemming  the  current  of  deleterious  sentiment,  which  is  con. 
stantly  flowing  in  upon  every  mind  1  It  is  time  that  the  pub 
lic  should  be  awakened  to  this  subject ;  if  any  one  will  look 
around  him,  he  will  find  numerous  instances  in  his  view  to 
justify  the  writer  in  these  remarks. 

John  Zone,  and  Sarah  his  wife,  were  respectable  grocers 
in  a  growing  city  ^in  this  country.  They  were  industrious 
and  honest,  and  of  course,  thrifty.  They  were  blessed  with 
several  children  of  good  sound  constitutions.  Their  sons 
were  clever  and  quiet,  and  two  of  their  daughters  out  of 
three,  plain  good  girls,  and  learned  readily  whatever  was 
taught  them";  but  one  of  their  daughters  was  pronounced  a 
beauty  from  her  birth.  She  was  a  paragon  in  the  cradle* 
In  the  mother's  imagination,  an  hundred  Fairies  attended  her 
birth,  and  more  were  to  superintend  her  growth.  This  is 
a  weakness  that  often  attends-  those  otherwise  blessed  with 
good  sense.  Mrs.  Zone  sought  for  a  lovely  name  for  this 
little  Peri  of  perfection,  and  at  last  fixed  upon  Helen  Hya- 
cinthia  Zone.  This  was  generally  applauded  by  all  the 
relatives.  As  Hyacinthia  grew  up,  no  one  was  allowed  to 
contradict  her,  or  even  to  gainsay  whatever  she  did.  She 
broke  play  things  as  she  pleased,  but  all  was  right.  Good 
Mr.  Zone  sometimes  ventured  to,  ask  his  wife  if  she  were 
doing  right ;  but  on  these  occasions  he  was  snubbed  up  in 
such  a  manner,  that  the  question  was  not  often  repeated. — 
Go  look  after  Hyacinthia,  was  the  constant  direction  to  the 


THE  CORRUPTED.  113 

other  children,  until  they  wished  their  little  sister  in  Heaven. 
She  mastered  her  alphabet  as  soon  as  the  other  sisters,  and 
in  fact,  was  forward  in  learning  to  read,  for  she  was  not  des. 
titute  of  mind  or  memory.  She  was  about  equal  to  those  of 
her  age  in  school  for  reading,  or  hand  writing  ;  but  the  mo 
ment  she  was  put  to  higher  branches,  she  was  obstinate  and 
resorted  to  tears  for  an  indulgence  from  her  lesson.  Her 
instructor  got  out  of  all  patience,  and  insisted  that  she  should 
learn  the  multiplication  table  with  the  other  scholars  ;  bu,t 
she  would  not  make  the  attempt.  She  returned  from  school 
with  swollen  eyes,  and  appealed  to.  her  mother  for  protec 
tion.  The  mother  said  she  should  not  be  driven  to  this  odi 
ous  task.  Her  sisters  had  learned  it  and  that  was  enough^ 
Hyacinthia  should  not  be  crossed  in  her  temper,  for  such  a 
trivial  thing  as  a  multiplication  table.  Mr.  Zone  insisted 
that  she  was  capable  of  committing  it  to  memory,  and  that 
she  should  be  made  to  do  it ;  a  violent  family  quarrel  en 
sued,  and  Hyacinthia  and  her  mother,  were  conquerors  over 
father  and  scholmaster.  The  mother  thought  that  her  dear 
daughter  should  have  private  tutors,  and  not  be  submitted 
to  the  degradation  of  a  public  school.  Mr.  Zone  knew  how 
hard  his  wife  labored,  and  how  much  she  earned  for  him  ev 
ery  day,  could  not  object,  or  rather  thought  it  the  wisest 
course  not  to  refuse  her  request.  One  instructor  after  anoth 
er  was  hired,  and  Hyacinthia  was  not  suited  ;  no  one  seem 
ed  to  understand  her  bent  and  genius,  but  her  dear  mother 
and  she  could  not  exactly  describe  it,  but  felt  assured  that  it 
was  something  of  a  high  order.  The  sums  paid  her  tutors 
began  to  grow  severe  in  the  sight  of  Mr.  Zone,  and  he  re 
monstrated  with  his  wife  upon  the  subject.  She  acknowl 
edged  that  some  of  the  masters  might  have  suited  if  her 
daughter  Hyacinthia  had  not  such  a  peculiar  temper  ;  or  as, 
ahe  had  heard  lawyer  Danforth  say,  "  was  not  of  such  a  deli- 


114  THE  CORRUPTED. 

cate  fibre."  She  had  some  slight  passion  for  music,  and 
an  old  musician  who  had  spent  the  good'  part  of  a  life 
in  managing  mothers  and  daughters,  coLtrived  to  keep 
the  little  uneasy,  capricious  creature,  constant  to  her  piano, 
until  she  had  really  caught  some  idea,  of  music.  Hyacinthia 
had  taste  in  sounds,  and  soon  acquired  a  tolerable  execution 
on  the  piano.  Now  the  great  secret  of  her  genius  was  dis 
covered,  and  was  to  rival  the  Santag  and  Malibran,  and  the 
whole  troup  of  Syrens  of  the  opera,  from  Naples  to  New- 
York,  and  it  is  to  be  confessed  that  she  did  make  some  im 
provement  by  the  dint  of  exertion,  and  the  force  of  flattery. 
Her  mother  thought  that  Hyacinthia  had  an  exquisite  taste  in 
dress,  but  she  always  appeared  gaudy,  flaunting,  and  extrava 
gant.  She  was  never  in  equable  spirits,  either  melancholy 
or  extatic.  Her  conversation  was  offensive  to  a  man  of 
sense.  An  uncle  of  hers  come  to  the  city  to  see  his  brother 
and  family,  and  was  well  received.  He  was  a  lawyer  in  the 
interior,  a  sens-ible  man  with  an  affectionate  heart.  He  wag 
soon  at  home  with  all  the  rest  of  the  family,  but  Hyacinthia 
had  not  determined  whether  it  was  genteel  or  not  to  be  socia 
ble  with  an  uncle  from  the  country.  He  was  disgusted  with 
her  on  a  few  minutes  conversation  ;  she  quoted  all  the  mod 
ern  novels  and  sentimental  poetry,  thinking  it  would  be  quite 
acceptable  to  a  literary  man.  In  the  first  place  he  could 
not  find  out  the  meanipg  half  the  time,  and  when  he  did  catch 
a  glimpse  of  it,  he  considered  it  as  the  most  wretched  affec 
tation  in  the  world,  and  could  not  help  treating  it  as  such. 
The  mother  saw  the  disgust  the  lawyer  felt  at  her  display, 
but  consoled  herself  by  saying  to  her  husband,  "  these  coun 
try  folks,  if  they  are  ever  so  smart,  have  no  notion  of  what 
a  wife  of  a  city  gentleman  should  be  ;  they  want  somebody  to 
take  care  of  the  farm.  Lucy  or  Jane  would  make  good 
wivc-s  for  country  gentry ;  but  Hyacinthia  shall  never  go 


THE  CORRUPTED.  115 

into  the  country.     Lucy  and  Jane  soon  had  offers  of  mar 
riage  from  substantial  business  men,  and  were   happily  set 
tled.     Hyacinthia  now  had  the  whole  attention  of  her  pa 
rents.     She  was  dressed  like  a  tragedy  queen  in  the  street, 
and  attracted  those  drones  of  society  who  watch  hours  in 
the  day  to  see  who  passes.     It  was  not  difficult  to.get  an  in 
troduction  to  her,  and  it  was  well  known  that  her  mother 
handed  round  an  excellent  glass  of  wine,  and  fresh  house- 
baked  cake.     The  honest  citizen,  Mr.  Zone,  had  no  small 
difficulty  to  eat  his  dinner  in  peace,  as  Hyacinthia's  beaux 
come  at  one  o'clock  as  a  most  fashionable  hour  to  visit.     It 
was  a  sad  business,  but  it  was  decided  that  the  family  should 
dine  at  three  o'clock  instead  of  one.     They  suffered  much 
from  this  change  in  hours  for  dinner  ;  but  their  daughter's 
welfare  was  paramount  to  all  inconveniences.     Every  eve 
ning  until  a  late  hour,  the  parlor  was  filled  by  every  dandy 
cit  or  foreigner  in  the  city,  but  no  one  made  advances  to 
Miss  Helen  Hyacinthia  Zone.     She  grew  impatient,  pout- 
ed,  scolded,  and  put  on  airs ;  the  loungers  about  her  under 
stood  it,  but  did  not  stir  an  inch.     It  was  whispered  that  the 
Grocer  was  heavy  in  purse,  and  that  his  favorite  daughter 
would  be  amply  provided  for.     This  set  some  of  the  hangers 
on  to  thinking  that  a  comfortable  living,  might  be  made  out 
of  a  match  like  this.  Two  young  men  who  called  themselves 
Louisiana  merchants,  but  who  probably  were  never  citizens 
or   inhabitants  of  New  Orleans,  made  love  to  Hyacinthia. 
She  favored  one   lover,  the  parents  the  other.     After  long 
negotiation  with  each  other,  one  drew  off,  and  the  remaining 
one  was     soon    accepted ;  ii  was  after  this  stipulation  was 
made  with  him  who  absented  himself,  that  he  who  was  the  sue- 
cessful  cand  date  should  give  the  other  one-third  of  all  he  might 
receive   by  the   bargain.     The  marriage  was   solemnized 
with  no  small  parade,  and  it  was  intimated  that  Mr.  Simcoto 


tl'6  TfcE  CORRUPTED. 

had  an  uncle  who  was  a  Baronet,  and  that  Alfred  Simcote 
was  the  heir  to  the  title  and  estates,  and  in  the  autumn  Mrs. 
Simcote  was  to  go  South  with  her  husband,  to  take  posses- 
sion  of  his  large  plantations,  near  New  Orleans  ;  until  that 
time  Hyacinthia  was  invited  to  make  her  home  at  her  father's 
house.  This  Mr.  Sirncote  consented  to,  as  he  did  not  wish 
to  tear  her  from  her  dear  mother,  until  such  time  as  she 
should  be  ready  to  embark  for  the  South.  Mr.  Simcote 
brought  to  Mr.  Zone's  house  a  great  many  visitors,  but  he 
did  not  introduce  one  to  Mr.  Zone's  family.  At  times  these 
gentlemen  sat  late  at  the  card  table,  and  deep  imprecations 
were  sometimes  heard,  as  they  retired,  but  Mrs. Zone  thought 
it  was  only  one  of  the  forms  of  fashionable  life.  The  parlor 
occupied  by  Mrs.  Simcote  was  strewed  all  around  with  ele 
gantly  bound  novels  and  poems  of  a  fashionable  cast — with 
prints  that  would  have  suited  better  for  a  Paphian  Saloon, 
than  for  a  parlor  of  honest  people.  Sometimes  the  other 
daughters  would  speak  ,  plainly  to  their  mother,  and  throw 
out  doubts  of  their  sister's  good  fortune.  Mr.  Simcote 
would  be  gone  whole  weeks,  absenting  himself  on  some  ex 
cuse  of  business.  After  one  of  the  absences  he  returned  full 
of  money,  having,  as  he  said,  been  a  journey  to  a  distant 
city  to  collect  monies  due  him.  One  excuse  after  another 
was  given  for  not  repairing  to  the  South,  to  see  to  his  cot 
ton  and  sugar  plantations,  but  as  he  was  flush  of  money  the 
good  Mrs.  Zone  thought  it  arose  from  delicacy  to  Hyacin- 
thia's  feelings  that  he  continued  to  stay  with  her.  The  fam 
ily  could  not  but  remark  how  few  of  the  faces  of  Mr.  Sim- 
cote's  friends  were  known  to  the  merchants  in  the  city, 
for  they  made  many  enquiries,  of  New  Orleans  merchants 
about  them.  One  gentleman  told  one  of  the  young  mer 
chants  lately  connected  with  the  Zone  family,  that  Alfred 
Simcote,  who  once  was  distinguished  in  the  South,  had  sev- 


THE  CORRUPTED.  117 

eral  years  before  been  murdered  and  robbed,  in  the  moun 
tains  of  Spain,  as  he  had  always  understood,  and  since  he 
heard  that  his  relation  had  administered  on  his  estates,  and 
sold  them.  Simcote's  confusion  when  this  was  stated  to  him 
was  great,  but  recovering  himself,  he  exclaimed,  "Good  God  ! 
is  this  the  report?  so  much  for  staying  from  home  so  long. 
I  must  soon  get  ready  to  visit  Louisiana,  and  show  them  that 
they  have  been  deceived."  He  made  preparations  to  leave 
at  once,  excusing  himself  from  taking  his  wife,  as  he  might 
have  difficulties  there,  and  chose  not  to  have  his  dear  Hya- 
cinthia  share  them ;  but  he  would  go,  put  down  all  these 
idle  rumors,  and  return  as  soon  as  possible.  He  soon  took 
passage  for  that  state.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months  Mrs. 
Simcote  received  a  letter  from  her  husband,  saying,  that  he 
was  getting  along  with  his  suits  of  ejectments  against  those 
who  had  purchased  his  plantations  of  his  cousins,  who  came 
into  possession  of  them  On  his  supposed  death.  This  letter 
was  fully  accredited  by  Mr.  Zone  and  family,  as  the  same 
vessel  which  brought  the  letter,  brought  him  a  consignment 
of  cotton  for  Mrs.  Simcote's  benefit. 

Soon  after  her  husband  commenced  his  voyage  to  the 
South,  his  friend,  Mr.  Trenon,  was  more  attentive  than  ever 
to  Mrs.  Simcote.  He  took  her  to  all  public  places,  and  his 
attentions  were  noticed  with  pain,  by  the  mother  and  other 
members  of  the  family,  but  upon  the  slightest  remonstrance 
Mrs.  Simcote  rose  to  a  towering  passion,  and  said  it  was  too 
hard  to  be  forever  annoyed  by  the  narrow  and  vulgar  views 
of  her  family.  It  must  be  remembered  that  she  and  her 
husband  were  people  of  the  world,  and  led,  instead  of  follow 
ing,  in  society.  She  repeated  all  that  had  been  told  her  of 
the  freedom  of  manners  in  France  and  England,  and  the 
Grandees  of  these  nations  were  the  only  persons  to  be  thought 
of.  The  good  mother  heaved  a  sigh,  but  found  she  had  lost 

K 


THE  CORRUPTED. 

all  control  over  her  daughter.  The  rumors  increased,  and 
on  investigation  were  found  to  be  too  true.  One  evening  one 
of  the  gentlemen  who  were  allied  to  the  family,  insulted 
Alexander  Trenon,  Esq.,  at  a  public  garden,  by  calling  him 
a  black-leg.  It  was  thought  a  duel  would  follow,  but  the  de 
voted  friend  of  Hyacinthia,  could  not  descend  to  fight  with  a 
man  of  common  standing.  Mr.  Zone  forbade  Trenon  his 
house ;  but  still  the  proscribed  was  seen  with  his  friend's 
wife,  in  many  parts  of  the  city  ;  and  it  was  believed  they 
had  private  intercourse,  even  in  her  father's  house.  The 
family  were  astonished  at  hearing  nothing  from  Simcote.for 
several  months. 

One  morning  it  was  rumored  that  Alexander  Trenon,  Esq. 
Was  found  stabbed  to  the  heart,  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city. 
A  single  blow  had  been  struck  at  him  with  a  dagger,  which 
had  reached  his  heart,  and  instantly  deprived  him  of  life. 
It  could  not  have  been  a  robber,  who  did  the  deed,  for  his 
£noney,  watch,  gold  snuff-box,  and  rings  were  still  about  his 
person,  when  found  by  the  Watch.  The  whole  affair  was 
involved  in  mystery.  The  sober  and  discreet  men  who  had 
become  sons-in-law  to  Mr.  Zone,  were  above  alt  suspicion 
of  such  a  deed.  The  only  clue  they  had  to  the  discovery 
of  the  murderer  was  but  a  slight  one.  The  victim  was  seen 
after  midnight  by  a  Watchman  in  company  with  another  not 
far  from  where  he  fell.  All  the  guardians  of  the  night  were 
examined,  and  one  of  them  acknowledged  that  about  eleven 
o'clock,  the  night  the  murder  was  perpetrated,  he  found  a 
gentleman  inebriated,  who  called  upon  him  for  assistance, 
and  asked  him  to  hide  him  in  the  watch-house,  for  a  short 
time,  and  he  should  get  over  his  infirmity.  To  the  watch- 
houss  he  was  taken.  The  gentleman  seemed  to  get  better 
soon,  and  was  liberal  with  his  purse,  giving  the  officer  some 
thing  handsome  for  his  trouble,  and  said  to  him,  "  I  will  doze 


THE  CORRUPTED.  119 

a  few  minutes  and  then  make  towards  home."  The  Watch 
man  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  and  when  he  awoke,  discovered 
that  the  stranger  had  taken  an  old  coat,  hat  and  weapon, 
the  badge  of  office,  belonging  to  another.  The  guardian 
of  the  night  awaked  before  one  o'clock,  but  the  gentleman 
had  gone.  In  a  short  distance  from  the  body  of  Trenon, 
these  articles  were  found,  and  identified  by  the  Watch 
men  ;  but  he  could  not  remember  a  single  feature  of  the  per 
son  he  took  with  him  for  a  short  repose,  but  on  reviewing 
all  the  circumstances,  he  was  fully  of  opinion,  that  the  drunk 
enness  was  feigned.  No  farther  progress  in  discovering  the 
assassin  was  made  for  some  time. 

No  news  was  heard  from  Simcote  for  a  year  or  more, 
when  a  ship  from  New-Orleans,  brought  Mrs.  Simcote  let, 
ters  and  some  drafts.  She  opened  her  letter  and  read  it-^ 
she  uttered  a  scream,  and  her  mother  entering  the  room 
found  her  daughter  in  convulsions.  A  physician  was  sent 
for,  but  all  to  no  avail,  Mrs.  Simcote  expired  the  next  day 
at  noon,  having  broken  a  blood  vessel  in  her  paroxysms.^- 
The  father  took  up  the  letter  from  Simcote,  and  read  as 
follows ;— « 

«  DEAR  WIFE,— (I  still  will  call  you  so,  though  lost  to  me 
forever.) 

Ship-board. 

When  this  shall  reach  you,  no  trace  of  the  wretch,  once 
your  husband,  will  be  found  on  earth  ;  my  body  will  be  in 
the  bosom  of  the  sea.  Several  days  since,  I  fractured  my 
leg,  and  the  mortification  has  taken  place.  I  do  not  regret 
it ;  mourn  not  for  me — I  am  not  worthy  of  a  tear.  You 
will  never  know  who  I  am,  but  it  is  but  justice  that  I  should 
make  you  acquainted  with  some  things  in  my  life.  While 
a  clerk  in  New-Orleans,  I  became  acquainted  with  the  man 


130  THE  CORRUPTED, 

who  called  himself  Alexander  Trenon.  I  had  spent  more 
money  than  I  could  honestly  command,  and  on  making 
known  my  situation  to  him,  he  assisted  me  to  make  all  quiet, 
but  his  apparent  generosity  was  the  basest  selfishness, 
for  it  was  not  long  afterwards  that  he  proposed  to  me  to 
join  in  robbing  a  bank  ;  he  coaxed  and  threatened  me,  and 
I  at  last  yielded.  From  that  time,  we  were  together,  as 
successful  plunderers  of  the  public.  He  gave  me  the  name 
of  Alfred  Simcote,  the  name  of  a  man  he  was  supposed  to 
have  murdered  in  Spain.  When  we  made  our  appearance 
in  your  city,  we  had  hidden  treasures  in  New  Orleans,  and 
in  the  West  Indies.  When  I  first  saw  you,  I  was  pleased 
with  you,  and  my  intentions  were  honorable,  as  far  as  such 
a  man's  intention  could  be  honorable.  I  honestly  intended 
to  make  you  my  wife;  and  to  shake  off  Trenon  and  settle 
down  as  a  domestic  man.  This  Trenon  opposed,  called  me 
a  fool ;  but  finding  my  determination  fixed,  waved  the  sub 
ject.  He  intended  to  make  you  his  victim  at  first,  and  never 
ceased  his  machinations  until  he  ihad  ruined  us  both. — 
When  I  left  you  to  go  to  New  Orleans,  to  dispose  of  some 
hidden  treasure,  with  my  part  of  it  I  purchased  cotton,  which 
I  shipped  to  your  father,  and  his  part  was  transmitted  in  bills 
on  your  city.  He  then  induced  me  to  go  to  the  West  In 
dies  to  dispose  of  some  concealed  treasure ;  but  when  I 
reached  the  Island,  I  discovered  that  some  one  had  been 
there  before  me,  and  had  disposed  of  all  I  went  to  find.  I 
had  not  been  on  the  Island  two  days,  when  I  was  arrested 
on  a  false  suit,  brought  in  the  name  of  a  Spaniard  I  had  never 
heard  of,  and  thrown  into  prison,  where  1  remained  nearly 
six  months.  When  the  trial  come  on,  my  lawyer  unravelled 
the  whole  mystery,  and  traced  all  the  deception  up  to  Tre 
non.  The  inducements  for  his  villainy  flashed  across  my 
mind,  and  I  hastened  home.  For  nearly  a  fortnight  I  kept 


THE  CORRUPTED;  121 

myself  out  of  sight — rumors  to  your  discredit  were  then  afloat 
and  I  soon  fathomed  the  whole  affair — I  swore  a  deep  and 
bloody  revenge — I  have  had  it — I  saw  Trenon  admitted  to 
your  house,  by  yourself,  the  last  night  of  his  life — I  then 
went  to  the  watch-house,  as  was  described  in  your  papers, 
and  obtained  the  dress  as  stated,  and  walked  near  your 
house  until  about  midnight,  I  saw  him  come  out.  I  knew 
one  of  his  places  of  retirement,  in  an  obscu  re  part  of  the  city, 
and  saw  that  he  directed  his  steps  towards  that  quarter.  I 
followed  him  with  my  disguise,  and  as  he  was  turning  a  dark 
corner,  I  stopped,  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  struck  my 
dagger  to  the  heart,  announcing  my  real  name  to  him  as  he 
fell.  He  knew  me,  sprung  upon  his  feet  and  dropped  dead. 
1  uttered  a  fiendish  laugh,  at  hearing  his  last  groan,  and  left 
him,  and  on  passing  a  street  or  two,  threw  off  my  disguise,, 
and  moved  on  in  security.  I  was  in  no  danger  of  being 
caught,  for  I  did  not  care  a  straw  for  my  fate.  I  had  glut 
ted  my  revenge.  I  pitied  you,  for  I  knew  that  you  had  been 
prepared  by  a  wretched  education,  to  become  an  easy  prey 
to  such  a  designing  villain  as  Trenon.  I  pitied  your  mother, 
because  it  was  her  affection  and  bounty  that  placed  you 
in  the  power  of  such  an  adventurer  as  I  was.  Your  mind 
was  light  and  vitiated  when  we  met,  and  1  was  a  fool  for 
leaving  you  a  moment,  if  I  expected  security  and  happiness, 
the  unkindest  cut  I  felt,  of  all  the  agony,  was  from  hearing 
of  your  lamentations  at  the  death  of  Trenon.  I  hope  after 
you  have  shed  tears  for  your  seducer,  that  you  will  shed 
none  for  me  ;  for  whatever  have  been  my  sins,  I  was  kind 
and  indulgent  to  you,  and  was  trying  to  make  myself  and 
you  better.  However  long  you  may  live,  you  can  never 
enter  society  again.  In  truth,  you  never  were  in  society  ; 
you  treated  with  contempt  your  own  family,  and  never  reach 
ed  the  fashionable  world,  you  so  strongly  desired  to  join.  I 
K  2 


122  THE  CORIITJPTED. 

feel  happy  in  the  thought  that  I  have  left  you  sufficient 
property  to  keep  you  from  want.  Never  think  of  me  again? 
but  set  about  purifying  your  own  mind,  and  preparing  your 
self  to  sustain  with  fortitude  the  disgrace  you  cannot  shun. 
There  were  times  in  our  lives,  when  I  was  on  the  point  of 
drawing  the  veil  from  all  the  mystery  which  surrounded  us, 
and  of  making  a  full  disclosure  of  every  thing,  and  of  going 
with  you  into  retirement,  and  of  struggling  together  to  be 
happy  in  a  humble  situation  ;  but  I  had  not  moral  courage 
sufficient  for  the  task,  or  1  thought  you  were  so  wedded  to 
the  meretricious  state  you  were  in,  that  nothing  could  re 
claim  you.  Your  mother  too,  in  the  main,  a  good  woman, 
had  become  so  poisoned  with  the  sound  of  fashionable  life, 
that  she  would  not  have  aided  the  determination.  My  heart 
was  swollen  almost  to  bursting,  to  think  how  wretchedly 
you  were  deceived.  That  elegant  Erskine  Russell,  who 
boasted  of  being  related  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  whose  ex 
quisite  taste  in  dress  you  so  much  admired,  is  one  of  the 
greatest  villains  in  the  world.  He  has  been  in  various  situ 
ations, — a  servant  to  a  gentleman  upon  his  travels — a  head 
waiter  at  a  hotel — a  notorious  gambler — a  keeper  of  a  gamb 
ling  house — a  jockey  on  the  turf  among  the  fashionables — 
and  a  high-way-man  within  twenty-four  hours.  He  has 
been  sent  to  Botany  Bay,  and  escaped  to  the  United  States, 
"  the  asylum  of  oppressed  humanity,"  and  the  rendezvous  or 
last  refuge  of  every  scoundrel  under  heaven.  He  keeps  a 
list  of  the  females  he  has  ruined,  and  shows  the  additions 
made  to  it,  to  his  circle  of  infamous  wretches,  every  time 
they  have  a  revel.  Still  his  language  before  females  has  all 
that  scrupulous  delicacy  of  concealed  vice,  conveyed  in  sub 
dued  and  softened  tones,  always  fascinating  to  every  ear  ; — 
but  hear  him  among  his  diabolical  associates,  and  a  more 
libidinous,  foul-mouthed  blasphemer  does  not  exist  among 


THE  CORRUPTED.  123 

men.  His  splendid  appearance  is  supported  in  your  city, 
by  frauds  and  shifts  of  which  he  is  the  main-spring.  I  dare 
say  he  is  now  moving  in  the  higher  circles  of  society,  a  star 
in  the  fashionable  world. 

That  quiet  German,  Gasper  Heidelburg,  who  won  so 
much  money  from  you,  is  not  a  whit  behind  Russell,  as  a 
knave.  He  has  had  a  good  education,  but  his  manners  have 
not  received  much  polish,  and  he  plays  a  secondary  part  to 
Russell,  who  is  the  chief  of  the  banditti.  His  chief  ingenuity 
is  in  making"  keys  to  unlock  banks,  and  other  repositories 
of  money  ;  and  also  in  preparing  chemical  ingredients  to  as 
sist  in  altering  and  counterfeiting  bills  for  distribution  through 
the  country.  These  arch  fiends  have  many  of  our  own 
countrymen  in  training,  through  the  medium  of  agents.  The 
minor  agents  have  but  little  to  do  with  the  leaders,  and  they 
have  no  means  of  betraying  them,  if  they  were  so  disposed. 
This  secret  agency  pervades  every  part  of  the  United  States, 
and  while  some  of  the  awkward  and  ignorant  of  the  conspir 
ators  are  caught,  and  punished  their  leaders,  are  moving  on 
in  the  most  fashionable  circles  in  thronged  cities. 

It  makes  my  heart  bleed  to  think  what  your  good  father  has 
suffered.  He  is  an  honest,  good  man  ;  follow  his  advice  in 
all  things.  Give  him  the  charge  of  your  property,  and  live 
no  where  but  under  his  roof.  Never  upbraid  your  mother 
for  her  mistakes  ;  they  were  errors  of  the  judgment,  not  of 
the  heart.  Take  this  advice  as  from  one  who  once  cherished 
as  much  affection  for  you,  as  any  one  could  for  a  woman 
so  volatile,  vain,  capricious,  and  so  full  of  spurious  sentiment. 
If  I  could  have  lived  to  have  reformed  myself,  I  might  have 
reformed  you  ;  but,  alas,  it  is  all  over.  I  am  calm  and  des 
titute  of  pain,  the  mortification  is  approaching  my  vitals,  and 
in  a  few  hours  all  will  be  over  with  me.  Both  of  us  have 
been  drawn  from  the  paths  of  virtue  by  one  of  the  greatest 


124  THE  CORRUPTED. 

villains  in  the  world;  but  he  now  festers  in  his  shroud. 
He  owed  me  his  life  and  I  took  it ;  I  wish  for  no  casuist  to 
settle  this  for  me.  Farewell. 

A.  SIMCOTE. 

Mr.  Zone  read  the  letter  in  the  room  which  contained  his 
daughter's  corpse,  and  instantly  gathered  up  her  splendidly 
bound  books,  novels,  poems,  &c.,  with  all  the  glowing  pic- 
tures  he  could  find,  and  conveyed  them  to  the  kitchen  fire, 
and  threw  them  into  it,  one  after  another,  and  stood  with  a 
vacant  stare  as  the  flames  arose  with  spiteful  fury,  as  if  the 
demons  the  splendid  pages  contained,  were  angry  at  going 
back  to  their  infernal  abodes  from  whence  they  sprung. 

Year  after  year,  has  the  writer  of  this  sketch,  seen  the 
grief-stricken  pair,  the  parents  of  Hyacinthia  Zone,  going  to 
church  every  Sunday,  bearing  deep  traces  of  suffering  and 
penitence ;  but  of  lute,  their  countenances  seem  more  serene ; 
a  religious  composure  has  settled  on  their  minds ;  and  if  they 
are  not  happy,  the  poignancy  of  their  grief  is  over. 

Mrs.  Zone  never  hears  of  beauty  among  her  grand  chil 
dren,  but  she  shudders  at  the  remembrance  of  her  favorite 
Hyacinthia,  and  makes  no  reply.  The  good  Mrs.  Zone  has 
often  said,  that  she  would  sacrafice  her  life  to  benefit  the  ris 
ing  generation ;  to  teach  mothers  their  duties.  She  may 
sigh  over  her  follies  for  years,  the  world  is  hard  to  teach  ; 
for  all  the  apt  scholars  are  on  the  side  of  opposition.  Indis. 
criminate  reading  is  a  vice,  and  should  be  no  more  consider, 
ed  as  a  venial  error.  The  person  who  has  lived  among  bad 
books,  is  more  likely  to  be  corrupted  than  he  who  lives  in 
bad  company.  There  is  a  nausea  in  bad  company  that  does 
not  show  itself  in  vile  books  ;  but  in  them  is  hid  by  paper, 
type,  and  binding,  and  all  that  delights  the  eye.  From  the 
cradle  to  the  grave,  the  food  of  the  mind  should  be  prepared 


THE  CORRUPTED.  125 

with  caution  and  administered  with  still  greater.  Females 
are  in  more  danger  than  males  from  this  evil,  for  as  exercise 
is,  in  some  measure,  a  cure  for  gross  food,  so  is  an  acquaint 
ance  with  the  world,  in  no  small  degree,  an  antidote  against 
bad  books.  The  greater  portion  of  men  set  their  faces 
against  these  moral  poisons,  and  but  few  young  men  have 
the  hardihood  to  make  allusions  to,  or  quotations  from  pro 
scribed  works  ;  but  when  they  are  read  in  private,  among 
females,  there  is  no  common  atmosphere  to  blow  away  the 
pestilential  fume  which  arise  from  corrupt  books.  Of  all 
the  reforms  in  the  world,  why  not  reform  the  reading  of  the 
age  1  When  the  taste  is  purified,  THE  MORALS  ARE  NOT  EASILY 
CORRUPTED, 


THE   ORPHAN. 


"I  stand  an  isolated  being  In  this  world:  numbered  with  no  tribe— arranged 
in  no  class — indigenous  to  no  soil.  I  belong  not  to  the  willows — for  they  bend 
to  the  breeze,  but  I  cannot :  I  claim  no  similarity  to  the  oak,  whose  head  defies 
the  storm — for  I  am  torn  by  every  blast :  1  am  not  of  the  family  of  the  parasites — 
for  I  disdain  to  grow  and  look  green  and  sleek,  like  the  misletoe,  on  the  sap 
formed  for  other  purposes.  There  is  no  place  on  earth  for  me.  I  have  no  parent 
root  or  kindred  branch,  I  have  no  genial  current  of  blood  in  my  heart ;  it  all 
turns  backward  to  the  fountain  from  whence  it  sprang,  at  the  thought  of  my 
mysterious  birth.  Is  there  no  charm,  no  torture,  to  make  that  fiend  divulge  the 
secret  7  I  am  writhing  on  a  bed  of  scorpions— lashed  by  the  whips  of  ten  thou 
sand  furies — and  tho  misery  will  last  as  long  as  I  am  in  doubt  of  my  origin: 
I  understand  that  the  witch  has  cast  my  nativity — and  declares,  with  a  malicious 
smile,  that  1  shall  not  die  in  battle,  or  by  pestilence,  nor  earthquakes.  I  believe  it, 
for  I  have  tried  them  all.  She  has  also  said  that  she  cannot  leave  the  world 
without  a  full  confession,  Watch  her,  that  she  does  not." 

Asbury's  Letter  from  South  America, 


IN  a  thriving  sea-port  near  the  northern  boundary  of  the 
state  which  is  the  heart  of  New  England,  there  lived  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  a  woman  of  singular  appearance  and 
strange  character.  She  first  appeared  there  in  1759 — and 
commenced  her  career  as  a  school-mistress,  and  for  awhile 
was  quite  popular ;  but  her  temper  was  irascible — and  after 
some  year  or  more,  she  began  to  show  her  fierce  and  tyran 
nical  disposition,  and  at  length  found  it  expedient  to  break 
up  her  school.  By  this  time,  however,  MADAM  COTTLE 
had  gained  the  reputation  of  a  witch — >which  was  soon  con 
firmed  by  her  turning  fortune-teller.  Her  predictions  were 
often  found  to  come  true — and  she  could  find  stolen  goods 
better  than  any  one  of  the  craft  within  one  hundred  miles 
of  her'  residence.  By  such  means  she  made  a  competence 
to  support Jierself.  Numerous  are  the  tales  of  her  powers 


128  THE    ORPHAN. 

in  the  line  of  her  profession.  The  whole  town  were  afraid 
of  her,  and  no  one  dared,  even  in  private,  to  say  aught 
against  her.  She  had  an  abundance  of  the  richest  clothes 
of  antiquated  cut,  which  she  put  on  without  any  regard  to 
modern  taste.  Jn  fact,  she  dressed  herself  as  oddly  as  pos 
sible.  All  her  neighbors  sent  her  presents,  to  propitiate 
her  good  will — some,  perhaps,  believing  the  current  suppo 
sition,  that  a  witch  has  not  the  power  to  injure  those  from 
whom  she  receives  a  present.  In  her  solitary  cottage, 
which  she  hired  cheap,  (for  no  one  dared  refuse  to  take 
what  she  chose  to  give  a  landlord,)  strange  lights  were  often 
seen  and  strange  voices  heard.  Many  persons  in  disguise 
were  seen  in  the  shades  of  the  evening,  stealing  into  her 
house,  who  were  dismissed  by  a  postern  door — and,  after 
crossing  a  wide  field,  were  lost  in  darkness.  Some  school 
boys  playing  in  the  road  near  the  house,  heard  the  moans 
of  a  child,  which  attracted  their  curiosity — and  one  of  the 
lads,  who  bore  the  talisman  of  protection,  by  having  been 
a  benefactor  to  her,  (giving  her  some  fine  oranges  when  his 
father — a  sea  captain — had  returned  from  the  West  Indies,) 
ventured  to  shove  up  the  window  and  examine  the  rooms. 
In  one  of  them  he  saw  a  child,  between  two  and  three  years 
of  age,  sickly  and  emaciated,  crying  from  hunger.  Dame 
Cottle  had  gone  out  and  locked  the  door,  and  left  the  child 
without  food,  from  morning  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  in  the 
long  days  of  June.  The  boys  at  once  bought  some  ginger 
bread,  and  threw  it  into  the  window,  and  the  little  wretch 
nearly  choked  himself  in  eating  it.  The  boys  soon  saw  the 
witch  on  a  fast  walk,  coming  towards  her  house — and  they 
wheeled  off  into  the  next  street  to  shun  her.  It  was  as 
noiseless  about  her  door  as  in  a  solitary  desert ;  but  on 
opening  it,  she  found  that  the  child  had  been  fed  by  some 
one.  The  existence  of  this  child  was,  as  she  thought,  an 


THE    ORPHAN.  129 

•entire  secret  to  every  one,  even  to  those  who  visited  her 
house  for  the  purposes  of  her  necromancy.  This  was 
^annoying  to  her,  and  she  stormed  at  the  next  assembly  of 
boys  she  found,  and  interrogated  them  strictly,  but  they 
made  no  confessions,  and  she  obtained  no  satisfaction — the 
boys  thinking  that  she  had  lost  her  power  to  discover  the 
offender,  from  her  having  accepted  the  oranges  presented. 
The  offending  boy  mustering  courage  to  watch  the  old 
woman,  saw  when  she  went  out,  and  locked  the  door.  He 
clambered  up  to  the  window,  which  was  fastened  down  by 
a  nail— and  it  was  beyond  his  power  to  move  it,  to  give  the 
child  any  gingerbread  with  which  his  pockets  were  filled. 
He  saw  that  the  child  was  then  looking  more  wretched  than 
before.  In  the  fulness  of  courage  he  dashed  in  a  pane  of 
glass,  and  threw  his  cakes  on  the  floor  ;  but  the  little  suf 
ferer  did  not  dare  to  pick  up  a  single  piece — he  had  been 
so  severely  whipped  for  eating  it  on  the  former  occasion. 
The  boy  watched  the  return  of  the  old  beldam — and  listen 
ing  under  the  other  window,  heard  her  rave  and  whip  the 
child,  and  then  smother  his  screams  by  suffocating  him  with 
her  apron.  The  lad  went  home  much  agitated,  fearing 
that  he  had  gone  too  far  in  breaking  the  pane  of  glass.  He 
ate  no  supper — told  his  mother  that  he  had  the  head-ache, 
and  wished  to  go  to  bed.  She  gave  him  some  warm  tea, 
and  he  retired,  but  could  not  sleep.  The  good  mother  be 
came  alarmed,  and  sent  for  her  physician.  He  came — and 
said,  the  child  was  only  troubled  in  mind  ;  and  he  left  his 
mother  to  discover  what  he  had  done.  He  would  not  dis 
close  the  circumstances  to  her,  but  said  he  would  to  their 
clergyman.  He  was  sent  for — and  the  boy  confessed  the 
whole  story.  He  became  quiet  when  he  was  told  that  he 
had  done  nothing  wrong  in  the  sight  of  God,  if  his  father 
had  to  pay  for  a  trifling  trespass.  The  clergyman — a  man 

L 


130  THE    ORPHAN. 

of  high  feelings  and  chivalrous  character — informed  the  mo 
ther  that  her  child  had  gone  to  sleep,  and  she  might  also, 
but  in  the  morning  he  would  see  her,  and  advise  with  her 
as  to  the  best  course  to  pursue.  In  the  morning,  all  was 
explained.  He  advised  that  complaint  should  first  be  entered 
to  the  overseers  of  the  poor — stating  the  facts.  This  was 
done — but  the  superstitious  little  town  politicians  were  afraid 
of  the  sorceress,  and  declined  taking  any  part  in  searching 
out  the  affair.  A  neighboring  magistrate  was  next  applied 
to — but  he  was  still  more  timid,  and  the  whole  matter  was 
well  nigh  being  lost,  when  the  mother  of  the  boy  who  had 
broken  the  window,  and  saved  the  wretched  child  from  star 
vation,  summoning  all  the  Christian  fortitude  within  her,  said 
to  herself,  "  This  shall  bo  inquired  into."  She  was  not  then 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  the  mother  of  ten  living  sons  : 
a  woman  of  exemplary  morals — a  member  of  a  religious 
communion — and  brave  and  virtuous  as  the  mother  of  the 
Gracchii.  She  at  once  made  up  her  mind  what  course  to 
pursue.  She  called  four  or  five  of  her  female  friends  around 
her,  and  stated  to  them  the  whole  story,  and  suggested  a 
plan  of  operation — which  was,  to  rescue  the  child,  and  take 
upon  themselves  the  responsibility.  Each  lady  was  to  take 
her  woman,  and  go  to  the  residence  of  this  witch  of  Endor, 
and  bring  away  the  child  by  force,  and  leave  her  to  act  as 
the  aggrieved  pany.  Mrs.  Carroll — whose  son  had  given 
the  gingerbread — took  a  freed  negress,  who  had  been  a 
slave  to  her  father,  and  one  she  had  known  from  infancy, 
to  go  with  her.  "Black  Luce,"  as  she  was  called,  was  a 
remarkable  personage :  she  was  gigantic  in  mind  and  body, 
possessing  the  most  indomitable  courage  of  any  heroine  of 
ancient  or  modern  days.  They  proceeded  to  the  mansion 
of  the  beldam,  and  found  the  door  barred  ,  but  she  spoke 
to  them  through  the  broken  pane,  and  swore  that  she  would 


THE    ORPHAN.  131 

wreak  her  vengeance  on  one  and  all,  who  ventured  to  dis. 
turb  her.  She  said  that  her  house  was  her  castle,  and  that 
she  would  defend  it  to  the  flowing  of  the  hearts'  blood  of  her 
assailants.  They  would  probably  have  retreated,  had  not 
lamentations  issued  from  the  inner  room.  They  were  from 
the  suffering  child.  This  roused  all  the  woman  in  their 
hearts.  The  negress,  burning  with  indignation,  said,  "  Mis- 
tress,  give  me  orders,  and  that  infant  shall  be  in  your 
arms  in  five  minutes  !"  The  mother  of  ten  sons  gave  the 
approving  nod.  The  African  giantess  seized  a  log  of  wood, 
and  instantly  dashed-in  the  door — and,  with  one  avenging 
blow,  stiuck  the  witch  to  the  floor — who  had  stood  with  a 
butcher's  knife  in  her  hand  ;  and  the  assailant  striding  over 
the  fallen  hag,  seized  the  child,  and  delivered  him  to  the 
matrons,  who  led  him  off.  The  infuriated  Madam  Cottle 
at  once  went  to  the  magistrate  and  entered  her  complaint. 
The  ladies  appeared — pleaded  guilty  to  the  trespass — and 
paid  their  fines  without  a  murmur — but  refused  to  give  up 
the  child.  This  subject  was  next  discussed.  She  was  evi 
dently  too  old  to  be  the  mother  of  the  child — and  not  show 
ing  how  she  became  the  guardian  of  the  boy,  the  magistrates 
adjudged  that  he  was  under  the  protection  of  the  overseers 
of  the  poor. 

The  overseers  gave  these  matrons  the  charge  of  the  or 
phan.  They  admired  that  noble  feeling  and  Christian  spirit 
which  these  matrons  had  evinced  in  the  cause  of  humanity. 
A  mother's  heart  is  the  most  sacred  fountain  of  pity  ;  the 
cause  of  the  wretched  makes  it  flow  even  beyond  the  power 
of  the  palsying  hand  of  superstition  to  stop.  These  religious 
and  high-spirited  matrons  had  no  longer  fears  of  any  super 
natural  agency  within  the  control  of  the  wicked.  They 
had  broken  the  enthraldom.  The  infant  (who  was  called 
lames  Asbury)  was  at  once  clothed,  fed,  and  sent  to  school 


132  THE    ORPHAN. 

at  some  distance  from  the  town.  His  story  was 
and  he  was  treated  with  great  kindness.  He  was  among 
the  first  in  his  class — but  there  was  a  constant  gloom  over 
his  youthful  fac.%  which  the  good  matron,  his  particular 
protectress,  saw,  and  gave  him  all  the  information  about 
himself  that  she  had. 

In  the  holidays,  when  he  visited  his  patroness,  he  was 
treated  as  a  son,  and  even  her  own  children  would  sooner 
quarrel  with  each  other  than  with  their  foster-brother. 
Large  sums  of  money  were  offered  Madam  Cottle  for  his 
history  ;  but,  with  the  malignity  of  a  fiend,  she  would  not 
say  a  word  to  those  who  importuned  her.  Now-and-then 
she  would  throw  out  a  hint  that  she  could  tell  secrets  if  she 
would,  and  that  not  only  characters  would  suffer,  but  titles 
to  estates  would  be  shaken,  if  she  should  turn  tell-tale. 
These  stories  often  reached  Asbury's  ears,  and  gave  him 
still  more  uneasiness. 

In  his  fifteenth  year  he  made  a  visit  to  his  friends,  and 
told  them  that  life  was  a  burden  to  him,  while  living  in  a 
community  to  which,  perhaps,  he  did  not  belong,  and  had 
no  ties  of  blood  or  connexion ;  and  that  he  wished  to  go  to 
sea — to  be  the  builder  of  his  own  fortune  and  the  founder  of 
his  own  name.  Finding  him  violently  bent  on  this  course, 
they  found  him  a  voyage  to  the  East  Indies,  and  he  sailed 
with  every  preparation  that  a  son  of  the  wealthiest  merchant 
could  require.  The  ship  returned  without  him — the  cap 
tain,  at  his  earnest  request,  suffering  him  to  join  an  English 
ship  in  want  of  officers.  Nothing  more  was  heard  of  him 
for  ten  years,  when  he  returned  to  see  his  patronesses,  and 
with  sufficient  means  to  refund  every  dollar  that  had  been 
spent  on  him.  This  he  insisted  upon — and  would  take  no 
denial.  In  this  visit  he  became  intimate  with  a  young  law- 
yer,  a  son  of  the  resolute  woman  who  was  the  cause  of  his 


THE    ORPHAN.  133 

being  snatched  from  the  clutches  of  the  beldam  in  whose 
possession  he  was  found  ;  and  they  together  made  great 
efforts  to  get  the  old  wretch  to  reveal  all  she  knew  of  his 
birth  and  parentage  ;  but  she,  true  to  her  diabolical  dispo 
sition,  refused  to  listen  to  any  proposals,  however  tempting, 
and  refused  to  see  him  and  his  friend  a  second  time, — inti 
mating,  however,  that  he  was  more  than  he  thought  himself, 
with  many  such  vague  expressions.  Mr.  Asbury  soon  left 
the  town,  and  repaired  to  South  America,  in  search  of  adven 
tures  and  commercial  speculations;  leaving  his  friend  to 
look  after  old  Mrs.  Cottle, — thinking  that,  when  dying,  she 
might  be  persuaded  to  make  a  true  disclosure  :  indeed,  she 
had  intimated,  that,  after  death,  many  matters  and  things 
which  were  now  mysterious,  would  be  brought  to  light.— T 
Ten  years  more  passed  away,  and  the  lawyer  only  heard 
now-and-then  of  Asbury — always  having  been  in  some  fight, 
or  just  recovering  from  his  wounds,  or  just  having  escaped 
from  some  dungeon, — frequently  stating,  that  probably  he 
never  should  again  see  what  he  had  never  doubted  was  his 
native  land. 

In  process  of  time,  the  old  beldam  fell  sick,  and  the  fame 
of  her  incantations  were  nearly  exhausted,  and  she  could  no 
longer  support  herself,  and  of  course  was  carried  to  the 
alms-house,  to  be  taken  care  of.  The  lawyer,  the  friend  of 
Asbury,  was  that  year  one  of  the  overseers  of  the  poor,  and 
ordered  the  old  hag  into  one  of  the  best  rooms  of  the  house, 
in  hopes  of  finding  out  the  secret  of  Asbury's  birth.  Dia 
bolical  as  she  was,  she  felt  that  this  was  a  kindness  she  did 
not  deserve,  and  uttered  a  few  sentiments  of  gratitude  for  the 
attentions  she  had  received.  On  one  of  Carroll's  visits,  she 
said,  "If  you  will  pledge  me  that  I  shall  be  buried  in  such  a 
spot,  (naming  it  in  the  grave  yard,)  in  a  mahogany  coffin, 
with  proper  winding  sheets,  as  a  lady  should  have,  and  such  I 

L3 


134  THE  ORPHAN. 

am  by  birth,  I  will  leave  you  the  whole  of  my  papers."  The 
bargain  was  acceded  to  at  once,  and  his  pledge  was  given. 
The  dying  sinner  knew  enough  of  his  character  to  put  full 
confidence  in  his  pledge.  He  added,  "that  she  should  be 
carried  to  the  grave  in  the  most  genteel  hearse  in  the  town, 
and  that  he  would  follow  her  to  the  grave  himself,  with  all 
his  friends  that  he  could  procure  to  join  him,  and  she  should 
have  every  comfort  while  living  it  was  in  his  power  to  offer. 
The  old  witch  took  from  her  bed  a  small  trunk  and  handed 
it  to  the  lawyer,  saying,  "  in  that  is  all  you  want ;  give  me 
your  honor  that  it  shall  not  be  opened  until  I  am  dead,  and 
buried  as  you  promise, — then  open  it,  and  act  as  you  think 
proper,  sparing  every  curse  upon  me,  however  truly  they 
may  be  deserved,  they  will  do  no  good.  I  have  been  a 
wretched  creature  from  youth.  The  mother  of  the  lawyer, 
Mrs.  Carroll,  wishing  to  see  Dame  Cottle,  a»s  she  had  been 
to  her  school,  and  was  the  resolute  woman  who  had  rescued 
young  Asbury  from  death,  took  her  son's  arm  and  made  a  visit 
to  the  dying  witch.  As  they  entered  the  room,  the  sick,  old 
woman  uttered  a  shriek  arid  turned  away  her  head, — "  Oh  ! 
that  I  could  have  been  spared  this," — was  her  first  sentence. 
Mrs.  Carroll  said  that  she  had  come  to  induce  her  to  repent, 
and  to  implore  forgiveness  from  her  Maker.  "  You  know 
not  the  guilt  of  the  wretch  you  wish  to  save,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Three  times  have  I  fired  your  house,  which  was  providen 
tially  discovered  each  time,  before  much  mischief  had  been 
done  ;  and  once  I  stabbed  a  boy  supposing  him  to  be  your 
son,  but  he  was  not ;  the  child  survived  the  wound.  I  was 
disguised  as  a  sailor,  when  I  struck  my  knife  at  his  heart. 
In  the  same  dress  I  waylaid  you  when  you  were  coming 
from  your  sick  father.  It  was  your  great  Newfoundland 
dog  that  you  had  with  you  that  saved  you  that  night.  That 
dog  always  knew  me  in  whatever  disguise  I  assumed,  and 


THE  ORPHAN.  135 

when  I  have  attempted  to  feed  him,  would  never  touch  any 
thing  from  my  hand.  He  seemed  to  look  into  my  very  soul, 
and  1  thought  would  have  given  his  life  to  have  told  you 
what  he  thought  of  me."  Mrs.  Carroll  was  quite  overpow 
ered  at  all  this,  and  her  son  thought  it  prudent  to  take  her 
from  the  room.  The  ravings  of  the  beldam  were  heard  all 
night  long,  echoing  through  the  large  building.  Misery, 
vice,  and  poverty  forgot  themselves  in  listening  to  the  shrieks 
of  remorse.  When  the  morning's  sun  arose,  all  was  over  ; 
her  spirit  had  flown,  but  the  fiendish  lineaments  were  still 
left  on  her  face,  and  her  chappy  finger  seemed  still  extended 
to  work  up  some  horrid  spell.  Mr.  Carroll  was  true  to  his 
promise  ;  the  "  withered  witch"  was  decently  shrouded  and 
put  into  a  mahogany  coffin  ;  several  of  the  public  coaches 
were  ordered  to  join  the  procession,  and  some  of  Carroll's 
friends  stepped  into  them.  After  the  funeral  he  prepared 
to  open  the  small  trunk. 

In  the  trunk  there  were  large  bundles  of  papers  on  vari 
ous  subjects,  relating  to  the  affairs  of  many  persons  ;  but 
the  most  interesting,  was  a  full  and  minute  account  of  Asbu- 
ry's  parentage,  with  the  certificate  of  his  mother's  marriage 
and  the  letters  which  passed  between  his  parents  during  the 
days  of  their  courtship.  The  way  the  old  hag  became  pos 
sessed  of  them  was  fully  detailed  in  the  sketch  which  she  left 
of  her  own  life.  "I  was  born,"  says  the  manuscript,  "in 
Edinburgh  in  the  year  17M2, — my  father  was  a  man  of  dis 
tinction  and  worth,  and  I  was  his  only  daughter ;  but  I  had 
a  brother  younger  than  myself.  I  received  the  best  educa 
tion  that  my  native  city  could  afford  me,  always  in  science 
and  letters,  beyond  all  other  places  on  the  globe.  In  my 
nineteenth  year,  my  father  took  me  with  him  to  London,  to 
give  me  a  higher  polish.  We  took  up  our  residence  with  a 
relation  who  was  an  officer  of  high  rank  in  the  army,  and 


136  THE  ORPHAN. 

his  house  was  constantly  filled  with  company  of  the  most 
fascinating  character.  Among  others,  Colonel  Cottle  was 
very  attentive  to  me.  He  was  a  man  of  elegant  manners, 
of  classical  acquirements,  and  one  of  those  artless,  daring  men 
that  women  love,  next  to  those  who  command  them  in  every- 
thing,  and  have  a  right  to  this  command  from  bravery  and 
delicacy.  He  was  considered  as  a  bachelor,  and  as  such 
made  his  addresses  to  me.  They  were  at  first  cautiously 
received,  but  he  pressed  his  suit  so  vehemently  that  I  began 
to  soften.  I  knew  my  father  had  already  made  a  match  for 
me  in  our  own  neighborhood,  in  Scotland  ;  but  in  this  I  had 
no  concern,  as  the  young  man  was  still  on  his  travels,  and 
had  never  made  advances  to  me.  Colonel  Cottle  at  length 
offered  me  his  hand,  alledging  for  a  while  that  it  must  be  pri 
vate,  as  he  had  difficulties  to  encounter.  We  were  married, 
and  I  returned  to  Scotland.  Fortunately  the  man  intended 
by  my  father  as  my  husband,  did  not  return  as  soon  from 
the  Continent  as  his  friends  expected  him,  and  of  course  I 
was  free  from  all  importunities.  My  husband  made  me  two 
or  three  visits  clandestinely,  and  at  length  informed  me  that 
he  was  ordered  to  America,  and  wished  me  to  accompany 
him  to  the  new  world.  To  this  I  readily  assented,  and  un 
der  pretence  of  visiting  our  friends  in  London,  I  had  an  op 
portunity  of  embarking  lor  America.  In  1755  we  were  in 
the  Colonies.  1  was  treated  with  great  respect  by  my  hus 
band,  and  by  every  officer  in  the  army.  I  felt  however  the 
sin  of  disobedience  sitting  heavily  upon  me,  and  often  would 
the  stern  looks  of  my  father  stare  me  full  in  the  face  ;  but 
my  husband's  smile  soon  restored  me  to  calmness  again.  I 
was  near  the  battle  field  when  Lord  Howe  fell,  and  prepared 
his  apparel  for  the  burial.  I  saw  the  fight  in  disguise,  which 
Colonel  Cottle  knew  nothing  of.  I  saw  the  folly  of  the 
course  pursued,  and  ventured  to  give  my  opinion  ;  but  what 


THE  ORPHAN.  137 

could  a  common  soldier  know  about  war  ?  We  had  gone 
down  Lake  George,  on  the  5th  of  July,  1758,  in  the  most 
scenic  manner,  a  thousand  and  thirty  boats  were  divided  in 
squadrons,  filled  with  every  munition  of  war,  and  the  besl  of 
provisions  for  many  day's  support.  At  the  interval  of  an 
half  hour,  the  band  of  music  which  were  in  the  centre  struck 
up,  "  God  Sate  Great  George  our  King"  and  many  thou 
sand  voices  were  united  at  once,  which  echoed  among  those 
highlands  which  encompass  the  lake,  in  numerous  reverber 
ations,  that  it  seemed  as  if  millions  had  joined  us.  The  fate 
of  the  battle  on  the  8th  all  know.  Two  thousand  brave 
fellows  fell,  when  not  a  dozen  Frenchmen  were  killed.  Lord 
Howe  who  had  fallen  was  a  great  favorite  with  his  own 
troops,  but  more  especially  so  with  the  Colonists.  The  re 
treat  was  most  melancholly.  My  husband  had  been  severe 
ly  wounded,  and  I  held  his  head  in  my  lap  nearly  all  the  way 
up  Lake  George;  but  I  was  disguised,  he  did  not  suspect 
any  thing.  He  frequently  sighed,  and  expressed  his  con 
cern  for  me,  if  he  should  die,  but  little  thinking  that  1  heard 
it.  I  attempted  in  every  way  to  cheer  him,  and  he  grew 
more  easy  in  body  and  mind.  When  we  reached  head 
quarters  at  Fort  George,  rest  and  quiet  had  a  wonderful 
effect  on  him,  and  in  less  than  six  weeks  he  was  able  to  walk 
about  leaning  on  my  arm.  I  managed  so  adroitly  to  change 
my  clothes,  that  when  he  was  brought  into  the  Fort,  I  was 
ready,  as  his  wife,  to  receive  him.  I  thought  that  1  had 
never  loved  him  so  much  before,  as  I  did  when  he  was  as 
helpless  as  a  child  ;  he  looked  to  me  for  every  thing.  Col- 
onel  Cottle  recovered,  and  we  continued  to  live  together  in 
the  greatest  harmony.  General  Abercrombte,  and  other 
officers,  were  often  at  our  table,  and  treated  me  with  every 
respect.  Not  one  of  them  had  the  slightest  suspicion  of 
my  situation,  any  more  than  t  had  myself.  During  the 


138  THE  ORPHAN. 

winter  of  1758-9,  I  took  lodgings  at  Albany  ;  my  husband 
was  the  principal  part  of  the  time  on  the  more  extended  fron 
tiers.  While  here,  a  pale,  emaciated  woman  came  to  my 
lodgings,  and  enquired  for  Colonel  Cottle.  I  informed  her 
that  he  was  at  that  moment  at  Fort  George.  She  took  his 
address  and  thanked  me,  as  I  thought  with  a  look  of  pity. — 
The  thought  come  over  my  mind  that  this  woman  was  his 
wife  ;  for  once  an  inebriated  officer  had  made  some  coarse 
advances  to  me,  which  Colonel  Cottle  resented,  when  he  let 
fall  some  hints  that  greatly  alarmed  me  ;  but  next  morning 
he  came  and  made  the  humblest  apolog}-  for  his  conduct, — 
throwing  his  conducl  upon  his  state  of  mind  from  excess  of 
wine.  I  got  over  this,  but  some  lingering  devil  of  jealousy 
stili  remained  in  my  bosom. 

In  a  few  weeks  after  this  visit,  I  had  a  letter  from  a  friend 
in  the  Fort,  stating  that  the  long-suffering,  and  long  neglect- 
ed  wife  of  Colonel  Cottle  had  arrived  at  camp,  and  was  re 
ceived  as  his  wife.  I  instantly  took  a  pair  of  horses,  and  my 
servant,  and  repaired  without  delay  to  the  Fort,  and  went 
without  ceremony  to  the  head  quarters  of  my  husband. — 
Ten  thousand  thunders  would  not  have  half  so  much  appal, 
led  him.  I  upbraided  him  with  every  epithet  my  invention 
could  supply.  The  pale  woman  grew  paler  and  fainted.  I 
held  a  pistol  to  his  head  and  threatened  him  that  if  he  denied 
a  single  word  that  I  should  utter,  I  would  blow  his  brains 
out.  He  well  knew  my  resolution.  I  then  left  him,  and  at 
once  having  satisfied  myself  of  the  fact  of  his  previous  mar 
riage,  I  instantly  left  Fort  George  for  Albany.  The  next 
day  a  faithful  friend  was  despatched  with  the  offer  of  an  an 
nuity  of  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  for  life, — this  I  indig 
nantly  refused.  The  plan  I  had  conceived  fired  my  brain, 
and  took  the  entire  possession  of  my  soul.  All  the  mines  of 
Golconda  would  not  have  assuaged  my  burning  wrath. — 


THE  ORPHAN.  139 

Night  and  day  I  brooded  over  my  intention  with  more  deter- 
ruination  than  ever  a  holy  nun  took  her  vows.  I  waited  four 
months,  time  enough  to  have  sent  lo  England  and  have  a 
return  to  my  letters.  I  forged  letters  of  introduction  for 
my  brother  to  Sir  Jeffrey  Amherst,  and  took  them  to  him 
myself  in  the  disguise  of  an  officer.  He  received  me  with 
great  courtesy  in  consideration  of  my  family  connexions. 
After  having  dined  with  him  in  a  splendid  uniform,  and  bear 
ing  my  part  most  gallantly,  he  offered  me  the  appointment 
of  his  Aid.  I  was  well  educated  to  every  military  form  of 
dicipline,  having  acted  as  scribe  to  my  husband  during  the 
whole  time  we  lived  together.  My  chirography  was  elegant 
and  I  could  imitate  the  hand  of  any  one  I  ever  saw  write. 
After  I  was  well  established,  I  encountered  my  husband,  and 
sent  to  him,  by  a  friend,  a  challenge  for  his  treatment  of  my 
sister.  He  was  reluctant  to  fight, — wrote  me  that  he  had 
injured  my  sister,  and  had  offered  her  amends.  1  treated 
his  offers  with  disdan.  At  length  the  preliminaries  were  set 
tled,  and  the  day  was  appointed  for  our  meeting.  1  propo 
sed  to  my  second  that  we  should  discharge  a  pistol  at  each 
other  at  fifteen  paces, — and  if  this  were  without  effect,  then 
we  were  to  draw  swords  and  commence  the  combat.  I 
knew  that  T  was  nearly  his  equal  with  the  sword,  for  we  had 
used  his  foils  an  hundred  times  in  sport.  We  met,  he  look 
ed  at  me  with  attention,  and  said  to  his  second,  "  I  am  sure 
he  is  her  brother,  as  she  informed  me  that  her  whole  family 
had  teeth  which  appeared  to  be  double  teeth  in  place  of  in 
cisors."  He  saw  them  in  his  opponent.  The  ground  was 
paced  out,  and  we  took  our  places.  We  were  to  fire  at  the 
signal  given — we  fired  ;  1  wounded  him  in  the  left  arm  where 
I  wished  to  hit  him.  I  was  willing  to  leave  the  combat 
then — his  second  would  not  agree  to  this,  and  we  drew  our 
swords  and  measured  them.  I  knew  the  length  of  his,  and 


140  THE  ORPHAN. 

had  prepared  myself  with  one  of  nearly  the  same  length;  mine 
happened  to  be  an  inch  shorter  ;  but  I  preferred  my  own, 
when  he  gallantly  offered  an  exchange.  This  1  refused. — 
He  gave  me  two  slight  wounds ;  this  fired  my  soul,  and  at 
the  next  onset  my  sword  was  successful.  All  my  resent 
ment  died  within  me,  when  I  saw  him  bleeding  at  my  feet. 
The  man  for  whom  I  had  left  fortune,  fame,  and  friends  had 
expiated  all  his  sins,  and  had  fallen  by  my  hand.  His  groans 
pierced  my  soul — I  burst  into  tears  like  a  very  woman.  In 
his  pocket  was  found  a  provision  for  me ;  I  never  had  the 
heart  to  claim  it,  or  I  might  at  this  day  have  lived  in  comfort 
as  a  respectable  single  woman.  The  next  day  Sir  Jeffrey 
Amherst  lost  his  Aid,  and  I  was  on  my  way  to  Albany. — - 
The  Colonel  was  not  mortally  wounded,  he  survived  the 
attack.  The  whole  army  were  entirely  unsuspicious. — 
They  pitied  Colonel  Cottle,  but  did  not  blame  the  brother  of 
an  injured  woman.  My  brothers  prowess  was  long  talked 
of,  and  the  highest  honor  was  awarded  the  opponent  of  Col 
onel  Cottle.  The  seconds  affimed  that  the  stranger  soldier 
had  fought  with  an  openness  and  gallantry,  as  though  he 
wished  to  be  shot,  or  slain  by  the  sword.  Enquiries  were 
made  after  his  sister.  She  was  still  at  Albany,  when  the 
wife  of  Colonel  Cottle  came  on  her  way  to  embark  to  Eng 
land.  I  saw  her,  and  endeavored  to  give  all  the  consolation 
I  could,  assuring  her  that  her  husband  would  live.  It  was 
cheering  to  me  to  hear  her  say  my  brother  had  behaved  in 
a  gallant  manner,  and  that  she  would  not  pursue  him  if  she 
could.  I  who  had  struck  my  sword  into  his  bosom,  wept 
like  a  child,  and  most  sincerely. 

My  lover  husband  had  been  lavish  in^furnishmg  me  with 
diamonds,  and  pocket  money,  and  I  found  myself  in  easy 
circumstances,  if  money  could  make  me  happy  ;  but  it  could 
not,  my  beloved  seducer  was  sick  and  wounded.  I  had  done 


THE  ORPHAN.  141 

this  justly,  as  the  world  would  say  ;  but  his  image  was 
forever  before  me.  His  pale  wife  came  up  in  my  dreams — 
she  reproached  me  for  being  her  enemy — I  repelled  her 
charge  with  indignation,  and  always  satisfied  myself  that  I 
was  right  and  had  the  best  of  the  argument,  but  my  heart 
still  ached  at  the  deed.  In  this  distress  I  wandered  to  the 
town  where  I  shall  die,  and  took  humble  lodgings,  and  rep 
resented  myself  as  the  wife  of  an  officer  slain  in  battle  on  the 
frontiers,  and  to  save  myself  from  ennui,  proposed  to  teach  a 
school,  this  was  readily  assented  to,  as  no  one  could  doubt 
my  qualifications.  I  instructed  in  French,  in  Geography^ 
History,  and  all  those  branches  so  seldom  taught  in  a  small 
seaport  ,own  in  America,  at  that  time.  The  wages  were  so 
small  and  the  task  so  arduous,  that  I  gave  it  up  after  a  sea 
son  or  two,  but  With  the  highest  reputation  for  great  learn 
ing.  The  clergy  gave  me  certificates  of  capacity  beyond 
all  the  female  teachers  of  the  times.  I  now  retired  and  hired 
the  small  house  I  have  occupied  for  many  years.  The  first 
part  of  it  in  innocence  and  quiet.  I  had  several  times  pre 
vious  to  this  journeyed  to  the  city  of  New-York  to  sell  some 
of  my  jewels,  where  I  could  get  about  a  quarter  part  of 
their  value  ;  but  where  I  lived  they  were  worth  nothing.  I 
was  almost  tempted  once  while  there  to  take  a  voyage  to 
England  ;  but  could  not  muster  courage  for  the  enterprize, 
and  I  of  course  returned  to  this  town  where  I  expect  to  rest 
when  'life's  fitful  fever  is  over.'  In  this  place!  found  that 
I  had  gained  the  reputation  of  a  witch,  which  at  first  I  con 
sidered  as  a  misfortune  ;  but  when  my  funds  grew  scanty, 
and  I  never  was  an  economist,  I  concluded  to  turn  this  to 
account.  At  first  some  bold  young  men  consulted  me,  and 
then  some  timid  girls.  I  soon  answered  their  enquiries  with 
out  difficulty,  and  so  accurately  that  my  prescient  wis 
dom  was  no  longer  doubtful.  I  went  on  from  step  to  step, 

M 


142  THE  ORPHAN. 

until  my  fame  was  established  beyond  rivalry,  and  my  fees 
become  as  regular  as  a  lawyer's,  and  1  had  amply  enough 
to  maintain  myself.  It  followed  that  I  was  consulted  by 
young  men  and  maidens  who  had  involved  themselves  in  any 
difficulty.  I  gave  them  sage  advice,  and  have  now  the  sat 
isfaction  of  thinking  that  I  saved  many  from  exposure,  dis 
grace  and  consequent  misery.  I  used  my  credit  for  necro. 
mancy  but  to  get  my  living  and  to  do  good.  I  found  the 
world  ridiculous  enough,  and  would  be  deceived,  and  I  de 
ceived  them  as  honestly  as  I  could.  When  jealous  wives 
come  I  laughed  them  out  of  their  jealousy,  and  to  husbands  I 
never  acknowledged  that  a  married  woman  could  go  astray. 
My  conscience  was  easy  as  long  as  I  could  live  by  the  hon 
est  income  of  my  profession.  Sometimes  1  had  both  parties 
in  my  house  at  once ;  while  I  was  advising  one  the  other 
was  hid  in  my  closet ;  but  I  never  was  suspected  of  playing 
a  double  game.  The  world  I  found  easily  gulled,  and  I 
found  no  difficulty  in  playing  my  part.  I  had  sustained  my 
reputation  with  increasing  confidence.  I  was  an  excellent 
sbot  and  often  astonished  the  boys  by  shooting  a  robin  from 
the  appletrees  in  the  fields  near  my  dwelling,  with  a  single 
pistol  ball.  This,  indeed,  to  them,  was  wonderful,  and  was 
set  down  to  my  league  with  the  devil;  but  he  had  no  agency 
in  the  affair. 

"  When  my  fame  was  at  its  zenith,  a  young  gentleman 
called  on  me,  and  disclosed  to  me  that  he  was  deeply  in  love 
with  a  young  lady  of  a  respectable  but  decayed  family — but 
that  his  proud  and  wealthy  father  would  not,  he  knew,  con 
sent  to  the  match.  I  said  every  thing  I  could  to  dissuade 
him  from  a  hasty  match  ;  but  my  exertions  were  all  in  vain  : 
he  would  marry.  I  assured  him  that  the  planets  were  unpro- 
pitious.  My  knowledge  of  astronomy  was  often  of  great 
service  to  me  in  my  profession.  I  saw  young  Greenwood 


THE    ORPHAN.  14S 

in  six  or  seven  months  after  his  clandestine  marriage.  He 
had  come  to  tell  me  where  his  wife  was,  and  to  leave  with 
me  a  sum  of  money,  if  she  should  want  in  his  absence.  He 
was  then  on  the  eve  of  sailing  for  Europe — to  remain  only 
a  few  weeks  in  London,  and  then  to  return  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  I  called  to  see  my  young  friend's  wife — and  a  lovely 
being  she  was.  I  almost  forgave  him  his  folly,  on  seeing 
and  conversing  with  her.  In  a  few  weeks  she  became  the 
mother  of  a  boy — and  at  first  promised  to  do  well,  but  soon 
the  physician  informed  me  that  he  could  not  save  her.  The 
distress  arising  from  her  situation  had  preyed  on  her  delicate 
frame — and  the  absence  of  her  husband  completed  the  victory 
over  her  constitution.  She  died  in  three  weeks  after  her 
confinement,  leaving  the  child  in  my  care.  She,  a  day  or 
two  previous  to  her  death,  put  into  my  hands  the  miniature 
of  her  husband,  set  in  gold  and  pearls,  with  all  the  letters 
which  had  passed  between  them,  and  the  certificate  of  their 
marriage ;—  all  of  which  will  be  found  in  the  trunk  marked 
in  silver  letters,  Alice  Cottle,  with  this  narrative  and  a 
diamond  ring,  which  I  swore  never  to  part  with  while  life 
remained.  To  the  person  to  whom  I  shall  give  this  trunk, 
I  give  the  ring.  The  motto  on  the  inside  of  the  ring  is— 
Ipse  dedit,  sese  dgdit :  <  He  who  gave  this,  gave  himself.' 
I  put  the  child  out  to  nurse,  thinking  the  father  would  soon 
return  and  take  care  of  his  boy :  but,  alas  !  that  boy  was 
never  to  see  his  father  !  The  ship  he  sailed  in  was  lost, 
with  all  on  board  of  her  but  two  or  three  sailors.  When 
the  child  was  nearly  three  years  old,  I  had  exhausted  all 
the  money  left  me,  and  all  the  proceeds  of  his  mother's 
clothes.  I  could  not  board  him  out  any  longer,  but  took 
him  to  my  own  house.  I  had  sworn  to  Greenwood  that 
I  would  not  say  any  thing  to  his  father  about  his  marriage — 
and  I  kept  my  word.  I  thought  the  child  might  be  an 
amusement  to  me,  or  I  could  have  given  him  away  ;  but  he 


144  THE    ORPHAN. 

had  been  indulged  so  much  by  his  foster-mother,  that  I  could 
efo  nothing  with  him.  My  temper  led  me  to  severity — and 
about  this  time  I  began  to  indulge  in  a  pretty  free  use  of  gin, 
which  made  me  more  irascible.  By  degrees,  I  began  to 
hate  the  little  one,  and  was  in  hopes  that  he  would  soon  be 
out  of  my  way.  He  was  becoming  sick  and  sulky  when  the 
boy  [  attempted  to  assassinate  found  him  in  my  house.  1 
was  mortified  that  the  fact  of  my  having  him  there  should 
be  made  known  ;  but  when  the  overseers  shrunk,  and  the 
magistrate  quailed,  that  a  woman  should  venture  into  the 
lair  of  the  lioness — t  the  famished  lioness  with  dried  udders? 
it  was  too  much  for  me  to  bear.  1  swore  everlasting  enmity 
to  mother  and  son,  and  took  every  possible  pains  to  destroy 
them.  I  have  frequently  attempted  to  assassinate  both. 
The  religious  mother  seemed  protected  by  a  legion  of  an 
gels,  and  moved  on  with  composure  amid  all  my  machi 
nations.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  for  years  I  pursued  them 
without  having  the  least  success — baffled,  mortified,  and 
often  exposed,  in  so  wicked  a  course.  I  was  inclined  to 
forget  all  that  had  passed,  and  to  pass  an  act  of  amnesty  in 
my  own  mind  towards  them,  when  I  met  the  matron  at  the 
hovel  of  a  fallen  woman;  the  helper  came  to  bring  suste 
nance  and  religious  consolation.  I  always  wore  rny  dagger 
in  my  girdle,  concealed — and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  ta 
leave  her  a  corse  at  my  feet.  I  drew  my  weapon, — but  that 
evil  genius  who  had  annoyed  me  for  years — Black  Luce — 
stood  behind  me,  and,  arresting  my  arm,  stamped  me  under 
her  feel  in  an  instant.  '  Imp  of  hell !'  she  cried  aloud,  'are 
you  here?'  The  African  took  her  mistress  by  the  hand, 
and  led  her  out  of  the  hovel.  I  dared  not  move  a  limb.  If 
there  ever  was  a  creature  that  I  feared,  it  was  this  same 
negress.  At  times,  I  believed  that  she  had,  indeed,  made 
that  very  league  with  the  devil  I  was  suspected  to  have  made. 
Every  where  she  scoffed  at  my  profession  and  myself;  held 


THE   ORPHAN.  145 

me  in  utter  derision,  when  no  one  else  dared  ;  and  often  pre 
dicted  events  in  opposition  to  my  declarations.  She  had 
been  with  her  mistress  in  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  and 
had  there  been  initiated  in  all  the  mysteries  of  the  Obeah. 
I  expected  now  to  have  been  called  before  a  court,  to  answer 
for  my  intended  murder ;  but  the  good  woman  made  no 
complaint,  and  my  intentions  were  known  only  to  a  few.  I 
was  penetrated  with  gratitude  at  times,  at  her  calm  forbear 
ance  and  zealous  wish  to  preserve  my  life — as  I  often  heard 
she  said  that  she  hoped  that  I  should  live  to  repent  of  my 
course  of  life. 

"  My  limbs  began  to  grow  old  ;  and  my  divinations  wore 
now  considered  as  old  as  my  weak  frame.  The  boys  hal 
looed  after  me  in  the  street,  and  mocked  me,  by  saying — 
4  Your  league  with  the  devil  is  run  out ! — you  have  no  more 
power  here  than  we  have  !'  and  others  went  farther  with 
unseemly  phrases.  The  alms'-house  rises  to  my  view  ! 
O  God  !  this  is  too  much  for  one  of  my  birth  and  education  ! 
The  paths  of  vice  lead  down  to  hell  !  Mercy  !  mercy ! 
mercy  I " 

Carroll  minutely  examined  every  paper  relating  to  As- 
bury,  and  instantly  sought  an  opportunity  of  sending  to  him. 
A  vessel  sailing  for  Caracas,  took  a  letter  for  him  under 
cover  to  Bolivar.  Several  papers  were  sent  to  that  and 
other  places,  giving  enough  for  Asbury  to  undei  stand  his 
good  fortune,  should  they  reach  him.  In  the  course  of  eight 
months  he  returned  to  his  native  country  ;  examined  with 
his  friend  the  letters  of  his  parents,  and  found  the  grave  of 
his  mother.  The  rumor  went  abroad  ;  the  grandparents 
were  dead,  but  his  uncles  and  aunts  were  living.  One  of 
his  father's  sisters  having  suspected  her  brother's  marriage 
at  the  time  it  took  place,  came  forward,  and  identified  her 
brother's  hand-writing,  the  miniature,  &c.  ;  and  every  doubt 
was  removed  in  the  family.  The  days  of  his  birth  and  bap« 


146  THE    ORPHAN. 

tism  were  ascertained — and  St.  Clair  Tracy  Greenwood  was 
taken  at  once  not  only  into  his  father's  family,  but  acknowl 
edged  by  every  respectable  person  in  the  city.  They 
lavished  all  the  honors  upon  him  that  they  could  bestow — 
military,  civil,  and  political.  He  repaired  the  mansion-house 
of  his  paternal  ancestors,  and  built  a  neat  country  cottage 
near  the  spot  where  the  ashes  of  his  mother  reposed.  He 
went  further — purchased  the  field  and  the  hut  where  Dame 
Cottle  had  so  long  resided,  and  whicli  was  the  scene  of  his 
infant  sufferings,  and  presented  it  to  the  trustees  of  an 
ORPHAN  ASYLUM,  with  other  donations.  He  married  into  a 
good  family,  and  was  cheerful,  prosperous,  and  happy  ;  and 
has  since  been  heard  to  say,  that  no  mortal  but  one  simi 
larly  situated  could  describe  the  agony  of  mind,  the  deso 
lation  of  soul,  that  a  sensitive  being  suffers,  who  is  uncertain 
of  his  origin,  and  despairs  of  ever  tracing  it  out ;  that  on  the 
smoothest  ocean  or  in  the  sunniest  vale,  on  the  mountain  top, 
or  the  battle  field,  the  impression  that  he  belonged  not  to  the 
family  of  mankind,  came  over  him,  and  struck  every  plea 
sure  and  every  excitement  dead. 

Carrol  sent  his  diamond  to  Russia,  where  it  was  sold  at 
a  great  price,  being  of  a  large  size  and  of  the  purest  water, 
and  gave  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  (which  was  brought  home 
in  iron  and  hemp)  to  the  Orphan  Asylum,  as  a  fund,  the 
interest  of  which  should  for  ever  be  applied  to  the  clothing 
and  proper  outfits  of  those  orphans  considered  of  a  proper 
age  to  become  apprentices,  or  to  go  out  into  the  world. 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  Greenwood  has  never 
breathed  a  word  against  Dame  Cottle,  notwithstanding  his 
head  bears  marks  to  this  day  of  her  brutality.  Forgiveness 
can  only  be  perfect  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  have  suffer 
ed.  The  Great  Author  of  our  holy  religion  became  "a  man 
of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief"  that  his  compassion 
and  mercy  should  be  co. extensive  with  the  sins  of  mankind. 


THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 


Where  God  gives  an  employment,  he  gives  the  requisite  capacity — Turkish 


"  Ours  be  the  gentler  wish,  the  kinder  task, 
To  give  the  tribute,  Glory  need  not  ask, 
To  mourn  the  vanish'd  beams,  and  add  one  mite 
Of  praise,  in  payment  of  a  long  delight." 


WHEN  the  American  Revolution  commenced,  all  grades 
of  men  flew  to  arms,  and  gave  up  their  common  occupations 
to  defend  their  country.  The  farmer,  the  trader,  the  school 
master,  the  lawyer,  and  the  physician  went  to  the  wars. — 
Seven  years  thinned  their  ranks  ;  but  when  the  storm  was 
over,  there  were  many  of  them  left.  The  cultivator  of  the 
soil  and  the  mechanic  were  soon  again  busy  in  the  walks  of 
civil  life  ;  but  there  were  some  who  being  too  proud  to  dig, 
and  who  were  ashamed  to  beg,  found  it  difficult  to  find  em 
ployment.  Many  of  them,  as  soon  as  schools  could  be  es 
tablished,  engaged  in  the  business  of  teaching  children. — 
Schools  had  been  so  long  neglected,  that  no  very  high  at 
tainments  were  requisite  for  the  profession  of  a  pedagogue. 


148  THE    SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

Their  pay  was  indeed  scanty,  but  there  was  some  pleasure  in 
it,  as  they  had,  in  this  capacity,  some  authority  still  left,  and 
from  many  had  some  share  of  respect.  Among  those  who 
had  left  merchandize  to  take  a  commission  in  the  army,  was 
Mr.  Jacob  Perrin.  He  was  a  whig  and  patriot  in  every 
pulse  of  his  heart.  He  was  prodigal  of  his  property  in  the 
cause  of  freedom,  and  never  thought  of  his  own  wants,  while 
his  country  was  straightened  for  means  to  carry  on  the  war* 
It  was  not  wonderful  that  Captain  Perrin  left  the  army  desti 
tute  of  every  thing  but  honor.  After  leaving  Newburgh  at 
the  close  of  the  war,  with  a  small  bundle  of  Continental  paper 
money  in  his  pocket,  made  his  way  for  New  Hampshire. — 
As  he  crossed  the  bleak  hill  of  Berkshire  in  Massachusetts, 
he  thought  that  he  would  buy  a  horse  to  ride  home  upon; 
but  his  paper  money  was  here  so  depreciated  that  he  was 
obliged  to  pay  an  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  a  breakfast, 
and  after  that  rate  for  all  the  necessaries  of  travelling ;  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  home,  his  pockets  were  empty  even 
of  the  trash  itself.  It  was  late  at  night  when  he  come  to  his 
house.  The  house  dog  growled  at  him  as  a  stranger  ;  but 
knocking  several  times  at  the  door,  a  man  let  him  in  and 
enquired  his  business.  He  replied,  "  I  am  an  officer  just 
returned  from  the  army,  and  am  on  my  way  to  join  my 
family."  "  You  must  be  hungry,"  said  the  house-keeper. 
"  I  am,"  was  the  reply.  A  good  supper  was  soon  furnished, 
for  the  people  were  in  general  very  grateful  to  those  who 
had  gone  out  to  fight  the  battles  of  their  country.  He  ate 
heartily,  for  he  had  travelled  with  great  rapidity  to  spend 
the  night  at  home.  The  master  of  the  house  saw  the  fatigue 
and  sadness  of  his  guest,  but  forbore  to  question  him  about 
the  wars  that  night,  and  kindly  showed  the  Captain  to  his 
bed- room.  It  was  one  in  which  he  had  slept  many  years, 
and  he  did  not  know  why  his  family  was  not  there;  but 


THE  SOLDJER-SCHOOL-M  ASTER.  149 

brave  as  he  was,  he  dared  not  make  any  enquiry.  At  break 
fast  table  the  Captain  enquired  what  had  become  of  the  fam 
ily  that  formerly  lived  there.  The  present  possessor  gave 
the  Captain  the  details  of  all  that  had  befallen  Captain  Per- 
rin's  family,  for  several  years  past.  "  When  the  Captain 
went  away,"  said  he,  "  there  was  a  small  mortgage  on  these 
premises,  but  he  held  other  mortgages  more  than  sufficient 
to  pay  it  off,  and  left  it  in  charge  with  one  of  his  friends  to 
make  these  mortgages  balance  each  other  ;  but  he  did  no 
such  thing  ;  but  went  and  paid  the  mortgage  held  by  the 
Captain  to  his  wife  in  deprecated  paper,  which  came  to  al 
most  nothing  in  her  hands,  and  purchasing  the  mortgage 
on  the  Captain's  farm  demanded  Spanish  milled  dollars  to 
cancel  it.  The  specie  could  not  be  obtained,  and  he  at  once 
sued  out  the  mortgage,  and  took  possession  by  no  fair  man 
agement.  I  believe,"  said  the  narrator,  "  that  this  hastened 
Mrs.  Perrinout  of  the  world."  This  was  the  first  moment 
the  Captain  had  heard  of  the  death  of  his  wife.  He  was 
silent,  but  the  woman  of  the  house  who  was  a  listener  to  the 
dialogue,  from  more  acutely  observing  the  emotion  of  the 
stranger,  exclaimed  by  way  of  surprise,  "are  not  you  Cap 
tain  Perrin  /"  "  I  am  the  bereaved  man,"  was  the  reply. 
"Why  did'nt  you  make  yourself  known  to  us?"  said  the 
woman,  "  you  should  have  had  every  thing  the  house  afford, 
ed."  "  I  have  been  sufficiently  well  treated,"  said  the  Cap. 
tain  ;  being  so  much  relieved  as  to  pursue  his  enquiries,  he 
found  out  all  the  circumstances  in  regard  to  his  family.  His 
three  boys,  the  eldest  then  only  nineteen,  were  then  at  several 
miles  distant,  gathering  a  fine  harvest  of  Indian  corn,  from 
burnt  land.  The  boys,  driven  on  their  resources,  when 
their  father's  farm  was  taken  from  them,  thought  of  a  tract 
of  wild  land  thon  in  possession  of  the  family,  and  at  once 
commenced  a  clearing.  They  had,  the  year  before,  camped 


150  THE    SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

in  the  woods  with  a  few  pounds  of  meat  and  bread,  and  fel 
led  twenty-five  acres  of  a  heavy  growth  of  trees,  and  burning 
it  in  the  spring  of  1783,  had  a  fine  crop  of  corn,  which  had 
been  gathered  for  some  weeks,  and  safely  stacked  at  this 
period  ;  ar.d  were  now,  he  was  told,  harrowing  in  the  rye. 
The  captain  only  waited  to  get  a  little  refreshed,  and  then 
took  his  way  to  his  wild  land,  and  had  an  affecting  meeting 
with  his  children  ;  he  found  them  grown  sturdy  fellows,  who 
were  to  work  like  beavers  for  themselves,  and  for  one  un 
married  sister.  As  he  entered  their  camp,  he  saw  that  they 
had  made  a  comfortable  dwelling  of  it.  There  he  found  a 
Bible,  Watts'  Psalms  and  Hymns,  and  a  few  sermons  of  re- 
puted  orthodoxy,  which  looked  as  if  they  had  been  thorough 
ly  read.  The  youngest  son,  a  playful,  honest  little  rogue, 
had  some  difficulty  in  hiding  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  Gulli. 
ver's  travels ;  but  his  father  saw  him  making  the  attempt, 
and  smiling  said,  *'  there  is  no  harm  in  those  books,  my  son, 
if  you  read  them  aright."  Here  the  Captain  fared  sump 
tuously  for  several  days.  The  new  corn  was  pounded  for 
hominy,  and  the  boys  had  made  a  good  quantity  of  maple 
sugar,  which  made  an  excellent  dish  for  one  who  had  had 
soldier's  fare  for  so  long  a  time.  On  returning  to  the  village, 
the  Captain  looked  about  him  for  employment  for  the  winter, 
as  he  abhorred  all  idleness.  There  was  at  that  time,  a  great 
call  for  wooden  heels  for  women's  shoes,  such  as  were  gen 
erally  worn  at  that  time  covered  with  leather,  and  looking  at 
a  pair  of  these  heels,  he  soon  thought  of  an  invention,  that 
would  make  them  with  great  rapidity  and  more  accurately 
than  they  had  heretofore  been.  This  succeeded  well,  as  he 
kept  the  invention  to  himself,  as  there  was  no  patent  laws  in 
the  United  States  at  that  day.  He  had  learned  among  the 
Indians  in  the  western  part  of  the  State  of  New- York  to 
dress  deer-skins,  sheep-skins,  &c.,  in  the  moccasin  style.-— 


THE    SOLDIER- SCHOOL-MASTER.  151 

After  exhibiting  a  few  specimens,  the  demand  for  these  skins 
was  constant,  and  paid  well  for  the  dressing.  The  industri 
ous  Captain  was,  with  his  children,  go:ng  on  very  well  in 
these  jobs,  when  he  was  called  upon  by  that  important  body, 
a  committee  from  a  school  district  to  hire  a  master.  The 
Captain  was  reputed  a  good  reader,  and  his  chirography 
was  certainly  very  good.  After  some  hesitation  and  reflec 
tion,  he  was  advised  by  his  friends  to  accept  of  the  appoint 
ment,  and  on  the  first  day  of  January,  1784,  began  his  labor 
as  a  pedagogue.  From  squad  to  squad,  as  a  school  district 
used  then  to  be  called,  he  kept  for  a  dozen  years,  about 
eight  months  in  the  year,  and  cultivated  a  garden  in  the  sum 
mer  season,  was  thrifty  and  happy,  having  realized  some 
thing  from  his  commutation,  with  which,  and  his  earnings  he 
purchased  a  pretty  farm.  The  children  were  prosperous, 
having  in  addition  to  farming,  from  the  first  of  their  father's 
leather  dressing,  become  tanners  and  curriers,  then  a  very 
profitable  business.  He  had  kept  school  from  1784  to  1798 
when  the  writer  first  became  acquainted  with  him,  and  was 
put  under  his  instruction.  He  was  then  a  man  well  to  do, 
wore  a  fine  cocked  beaver,  a  gold  headed  cane, — and  there 
was  more  creak  in  his  shoes  than  any  other  gentlemans  in 
the  parish,  for  he  wore  a  very  clean  pair  every  day.  As  a 
war  was  impending  over  our  country,  he  subscribed  an  hun 
dred  dollars  as  a  donation  for  building  armed  vessels,  and 
had  taken  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  loan  authorized  by  gov 
ernment  for  the  purpose  ofincreasing  our  navy.  When  his 
friends  remonstrated  at  this,  and  reminded  him  how  ungrate 
fully  the  country  had  acted  towards  those  war-worn  vete 
rans  who  had  served  her  interests  in  the  revolutionary 
war,  and  touched  upon  the  hardness  of  his  own  case  in 
particular,  ho  replied,  "a  patriot  should  never  give  up  his 
country  for  the  most  unkind  treatment,  but  hold  on  to  pro- 


152  THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

tect  her  as  long  as  he  would  the  mother  who  bore  him.  All 
were  not  then  so  particular,  as  they  could  not  get  the  pit 
tance  due  them  lor  long  past  services. 

It  was  on  the  nineteenth  day  of  January  the  school  opened 
as  is  remembered  as  being  our  twelfth  birth  day.  In  a 
large  coarse  school  house,  that  morning  there  were  seated  in 
due  order,  about  ninety  scholars  of  both  sexes,  who  arose  as 
the  master  entered.  He  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  on  whom 
time  had  begun  to  press,  but  he  was  still  agile,  and  full  of 
animal  spirits.  He  bade  us  good  morning  with  the  ease  and 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  and  set  about  classing  us,  but  we 
had  classed  ourselves,  knowing  each  other  better  than  a 
stranger.  The  master  spoke  to  us  as  one  having  authority, 
as  well  he  might,  for  our  committee  had  given  him  eight  dol 
lars  a  month,  and  better  board  than  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
getting  ;  never  more  than  six  dollars  a  month  had  been  pre 
viously  given.  The  scholars  sooner  became  acquainted  with 
the  character  of  their  instructor,  than  masters  do  of  the  tal 
ents  of  their  pupils.  The  Soldier-School-Master  had  the 
reputation  of  being  an  excellent  reader  ;  he  had  a  fine  sono 
rous  voice,  of  great  compass,  and  it  was  well  modulated  ; 
he  read  with  great  volubility,  but  was  not  very  correct  in  his 
pronunciation  or  careful  of  a  right  accentation,  but  his  em 
phasis,  however  misp'acecl,  was  bold  and  full,  which  gave  a 
strength  and  force  to  his  reading.  He  made  his  pause, after 
the  light  of  nature,  although  he  knew  enough  of  the  theory  of 
punctuation,  to  tell  the  difference  between  a  comma  and  a 
period,  but  never  thought  of  them  after  he  had  defined  them. 
His  memory  was  then  strong,  and  of  course  he  was  a  good  spel 
ler.  In  History  and  Geography,  he  was  better  versed  than 
most  of  his  contemporaries,  and  he  possessed  an  ample  store 
house  of  anecdote,  particularly  of  the  revolutionary  war, 
which,  he  told  with  great  effect.  His  arithmetic  was  scanty  ; 


THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER.  153 

the  Golden  Rule  of  Three  was  the  Ultima  Thule  of  his  sci 
ence  of  numbers.  He  thought  it  was  a  waste  of  time  to  go 
farther.  When  once  asked  what  was  understood  by  the 
word  Algebra,  he  rubbed  his  forehead  a  moment  and  then 
said,  "he  believed  it  was  arithmetic  or  figures,  diving  into  let 
ters,  like  a  Pinguin  into  ivater,  to  come  up  the  same  thing  in 
another  place,  a  little  disguised"  Many  a  hard  question  has 
been  answered  with  less  ingenuity  than  this. 

The  discipline  of  his  school  was  military.  The  boys 
marched  in  and  out  of  school  in  single  file.  They  were 
divided  into  companies  and  battalions,  forming  his  regulars  as 
he  called  them.  Every  offence  of  any  magnitude,  was  tried 
by  a  court-martial,  properly  organized  as  a  court  of  honor. 
A  judge  advocate  was  appointed,  and  charges  and  specifi 
cations  made  to  the  master  who  appointed  the  court.  It 
was  often  amusing  to  see  with  what  accuracy  the  young 
scholars  would  go  through  the  forms  and  get  at  the  justice 
of  the  case.  He  had  drilled  several  of  his  scholars,  who 
trained  the  others  until  all  were  quite  at  home,  in  the  manual 
exercise  and  all  company  manoeuvres.  The  two  best  schol 
ars  of  the  week  were  the  two  captains  for  the  next  week. 
Regular  returns  were  made  to  the  master  every  Saturday, 
and  he  knew  who  had  been  to  school  constantly  or  not.  One 
hour  each  day  was  spent  in  reading  history.  This  was 
done  by  four  or  five  good  readers  while  the  others  were  lis 
tening.  The  best  readers  were  selected,  and  all  were  emu 
lous  to  be  in  the  class  of  history  readers.  Interesting  biog 
raphies  were  also  introduced.  When  particular  portions 
of  Ramsay's  History  of  the  Revolution  were  read,  the  old 
soldier  was  all  alive  to  the  subject,  and  made  copious  re 
marks  to  his  school  upon  the  minutiae  of  them.  The  biog 
raphies  of  many  of  the  heroes  of  the  revolution  had  not 
then  been  written,  but  something  of  most  of  them  was  known 

N 


154  THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

to  him,  and  he  detailed  all  he  knew  to  his  boys.  Such  was 
the  enthusiasm  which  this  course  produced,  that  in  a  few 
months  there  was  hardly  a  child  of  either  sex  in  the  school 
who  could  not  say  something  on  most  of  the  questions  which 
were  proposed  one  Saturday  to  be  answered  the  next  Satur 
day,  having  probably  obtained  assistance  from  home.  In 
fact,  he  so  managed  his  school  that  all  the  families  in  the 
district,  doctor,  lawyer,  and  all  were  put  upon  their  studies, 
and  did  the  best  they  could  in  assisting  the  children  to  appear 
well  in  this  branch.  Plutarch's  Lives  were  next  introduced, 
and  read  by  males  and  females  as  well  as  the  other  books, 
the  master  selecting  such  as  were  to  be  read  in  public. — 
These  volumes  were  in  constant  requisition  in  school,  for 
they  were  studied  by  those  who  had  gone  through  their  reg 
ular  lessons.  The  parents  of  the  children  proposed  to  the 
old  soldier  that  several  sets  should  be  purchased,  he  at  once 
objected  to  this,  saying  that  as  soon  as  all  had  books,  the  in 
terest  for  reading  them  would  diminish ;  the  only  way  to 
make  them  learn  fast  was  from  the  above  method,  then  eve 
ry  one  was  anxious  for  his  turn,  and  brought  his  attention  to 
the  work  to  gain  as  much  as  another  had  in  the  same  space 
of  time,  and  more  if  possible.  The  parents  yielded  to  this 
reasoning. 

The  old  soldier  wrote  imaginary  dialogues  between  Gen 
erals  of  armies,  whether  they  lived  in  the  same  age  with 
each  other  or  not.  These  imaginary  dialogues  were 
handed  around  the  school,  in  a  skeleton  form,  any  one  had 
a  right  to  introduce  a  new  character,  if  it  were  in  keeping 
with  the  others,  and  many  were  ambitious  to  join  in  the  dia 
logue,  which  after  many  incongruities  went  off  very  well. — . 
As  the  spring  was  advancing,  the  snow  being  still  deep,  the 
old  soldier  imparted  to  his  school  the  design  of  a  grand  mili 
tary  fete.  He  laid  out  a  plan  for  it.  He  marked  out  tho 


THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER.  165 

place  near  the  school-house  for  a  large  fort ;  he  had  once 
been  distinguished  in  the  defence  of  a  fortress,  and  this  thought 
was  always  uppermost  in  his  head.  The  erection  of  the 
works  was  a  joint  labor,  and  was  soon  accomplished.  It 
was  built  with  large  snow  masses  rolled  when  the  sun  was 
warm  at  noon  day,  and  piled  one  upon  another,  and  fashion 
ed  with  mechanical  exactness,  until  the  works  were  finished. 
The  rear  of  the  fort  was  to  be  unassailable  ;  but  from  which 
the  beseiged  might  make  a  sortie  if  they  saw  proper.  The 
parties  to  fill  the  works,  and  the  assailants  were  arranged. 
There  were  two  favorite  boys  selected,  or  rather  designated 
as  leaders;  one  was  Archibald  Duncan,  a  stripling  of  ardent 
temperament,  daring,  generous,  and  full  ofresourses, — the 
other,  Stafford  Harper,  a  lad  of  a  year  or  two  older,  cau 
tious,  mild,  industrious,  but  selfish.  The  latter  was  the  high 
est  favorite  of  the  school-master,  but  he  was  obliged  in  jus 
tice  to  acknowledge  that  Duncan  was  the  greatest  boy.  Har 
per  with  one  third  of  the  forces  was  to  defend  the  fort,  and 
Duncan  with  the  other  part  was  to  attack  it.  The  young 
ladies  wrought  a  standard,  on  which  they  painted  this  motto: 
«FoR  THE  CONQUERORS."  A  day  was  fixed  for  the  fight, 
and  all  were  ready.  As  they  left  the  school-house,  the  flag 
was  seen  floating  on  the  battlements  of  the  fort.  Harper 
said  to  Duncan,  as  they  marched  out,  "  the  ides  of  March 
have  come;"  "  yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  not  gone."  A 
huge  conch  shell,  a  common  instrument  then  used  to  call  the 
workmen  from  their  labors  to  their  meals,  was  sounded  from 
the  ranks  of  the  assailants,  with  a  demand  of  surrender. — 
This  was,  of  course,  refused,  with  terms  of  defiance.  As  the 
assailants  retired,  they  had  heard  the  master  issue  the  order, 
"  hang  out  the  banner  on  the  outer  wall," — when  Duncan 
said  to  his  comrades,  "  they  shall  see  Burnam  wood  come 
down  to  Dunsinane."  Duncan  had  summoned  his  forces, 


156  THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

when  all  were  unsuspicious,  and  rolled  large  masses  of 
snow  into  balls,  and  put  birch  poles  under  them,  in  order 
that  they  might  be  easily  removed.  These  were  brought 
by  the  sturdiest  of  the  assailants,  and  placed  under  the  walls 
of  the  fort,  grown  compact  by  the  frost.  This  was  effected 
only  by  a  slight  annoyance  from  the  snow  balls  of  the  gar- 
rison,  the  only  weapon  allowed  to  be  used  against  the  persons 
of  each  party.  In  a  few  moments  the  conch  rang  again, 
and  Duncan's  main  army  appeared,  each  with  a  mighty  load 
of  hemlock  branches  in  his  arms.  In  their  rear  was  a 
corps  of  little  boys,  each  bearing  a  lever  or  handspike,  made 
of  hornbeam  wood,  cut  to  a  sharp  wedge  at  the  largest  end. 
The  branches  were  thrown  on  the  snow  balls,  just  placed  as 
steps  to  reach  the  battlements  of  the  fortification,  which  by 
the  addition  of  these  hemlock  fascines,  enabled  the  assailants 
to  raise  their  heads  high  enough  to  throw  their  hand  snow- 
balls  directly  into  the  works.  These  had  been  made  several 
days  before,  and  were  hardened  by  the  frost  of  several  nights, 
although  unknown  to  Harper's  party.  His  balls  were  soft 
and  had  but  little  effect.  Those  in  the  fort  could  not  sustain 
themselves  against  those  frozen  balls,  and  the  orders  of 
Duncan  were  strictly  obeyed  to  bring  down  the  leader, — 
when  the  whole  fire  was  directed  to  him,  he  could  not  sup 
port  it,  but  fled,  and  his  forces  followed.  Duncan  with  his 
own  hand  seized  the  standard,  and  shouted  victory.  This 
war-cry  fell  like  a  death  blow  on  the  ears  of  the  veteran, 
who  seizing  his  cane  ran  into  the  fort  deserted  by  the  whole 
garrison,  but  the  fire  did  not  cease.  In  a  paroxysm  of  rage 
he  breasted  it  all.  Duncan  now  gave  orders  for  the  demol- 
ishers  to  seize  their  weapons.  The  little  boys  advanced  and 
handed  to  the  big  ones  the  formidable  weapons.  The  work 
of  destruction  began.  The  veteran  exclaimed,  "  Spare  !  O, 
spare  the  fort !"  The  boys  looked  at  Duncan,  whose  orders 


THE  SOLDIER- SCHOOL-MASTER.  157 

were  to  be  obeyed.  In  fifteen  minutes  there  was  nothing  of 
the  noble  fortress  to  be  seen,  but  a  mass  of  snow  and  ice, 
without  form  or  comeliness.  The  morning  sun  had  shone 
on  a  beautiful  specimen  of  art.  The  veteran  was  half  suffo 
cated  in  the  ruins,  and  laid  his  cane  about  him  most  furious. 
Jy.  Several  of  the  assailants,  and  Duncan  among  others, 
had  felt  its  weight ;  he  paid  no  regard  to  this,  but  ordered 
two  of  his  warriors  to  conduct  the  master  into  the  school- 
house.  A  bag  of  salt  was  brought  forward,  and  strewed 
over  the  ruins  in  classical  style.  When  the  battle  was  over, 
Duncan  formed  his  forces  left  in  front,  to  enter  the  school, 
house — the  banner  in  the  centre.  Uncertain  what  would  be 
the  temper  of  the  chafed  veteran,  Duncan  engaged  several 
of  his  athletic  boys  to  favor  his  escape,  if  any  personal  vio 
lence  was  offered  him.  The  little  rosy  cheeked,  laughing  ur 
chins  entered  first;  when  the  banner  appeared  the  females 
arose  and  cheered  the  victor,  waving  their  handkerchiefs  to 
welcome  his  approach.  The  veteran  stood  by  his  desk,  and 
Duncan  and  the  efficient  part  of  his  forces,  occupied  the  area 
in  front  of  the  desks, — when  he  thus  addressed  the  Command- 
er-in-  Chief:  "  General,  the  forces  under  my  command  have 
been  signally  victorious.  The  garrison  of  Fort  Katharine, 
(named  in  honor  of  the  Empress  of  Russia  who  had  built  a 
palace  of  ice,)  have  fled  to  neutral  ground  in  dismay,  and 
the  works  are  in  ruins.  The  proud  banner  that  floated  on 
the  "outer  wall,"  shall  now  be  laid  at  your  feet.  In  this 
triumph  \ve  regret  to  say  that  when  the  garrison  fled,  a  vete 
ran  hero,  unknown  to  your  officers,  made  his  appearance  and 
fought  like  Csesar,  until  he  was  buried  in  the  ruins.  His 
remains  have  been  recovered,  and  I  now  ask  your  permis 
sion  to  give  him  the  funeral  of  a  Feld  Marshall,  over  his 
remains  I  will  pronounce  an  oration,  in  humble  imitation  of 
Anthony  over  the  dead  body  of  the  mighty  Julius."  The 

N  2 


158  THE  SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

smallest  child  caught  the  drift  of  the  speech,  and  the  whole 
school  were  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  The  master  was  now  in 
a  good  humor,  and  declared  that  he  had  the  pleasure  of  an 
nouncing  to  the  victorious  legion,  that  the  veteran  had  recov 
ered  from  his  suffocation,  and  would  decline  the  honor  of  a 
military  funeral  at  the  present  time ;  but  when  the  proper 
time  should  arrive  no  one  could  do  more  honor  to  the  merits 
of  an  officer,  than  Captain  -Duncan.  "  Crown  the  victor," 
was  the  order  from  the  desk,  when  nine  young  ladies  ap 
proached  and  dropped  the  laurel  crown  on  the  stripling's 
head.  The  veteran  then  detailed  the  circumstances  of  the 
fight,  and  gave  Duncan  great  credit  in  combining  the  prin 
ciples  of  several  battles  in  an  admirable  manner,  and  defend 
ed  every  act  of  the  assailants  on  honorable  grounds.  He 
saved  the  feelings  of  Harper,  whose  face  bore  marks  of 
stiffened  snow  balls,  by  saying  that  no  one  could  have  ex 
pected  such  a  tremendous  attack. 

The  master  and  scholars  and  their  parents  were  invited 
to  Duncan's  father's  house  that  evening,  for  a  little  jollifica 
tion,  to  make  up  all  things,  in  order  to  go  on  again  smoothly  ; 
for  a  very  different  result  was  prognosticated  by  many  of 
the  knowing  ones  in  the  district,  who  had  seen  the  veteran 
smile  and  wink  when  the  subject  had  been  mentioned — and 
it  had  been  talked  of  for  several  days  previously.  The 
party  was  large,  and  all  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  Duncan  intro* 
duced  Harper  to  his  father  and  family,  and  appointed  him 
to  open  the  dance.  Old  Pompey,  who  had  fiddled  for  five 
or  six  generations,  was  sent  for,  and  he  came  in  full  glee — 
as  the  harper  who  sung  the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 
He  was  infirm  and  old,  but  he  had.  been  a  warrior,  and  was 
senior  to  all  around  him.  "  They  were  boys,"  he  said, 
« to  him.  He  had  played  at  their  fathers'  weddings."  The 
school -master  came  also  to  partake  of  the  hilarity,  and  made 


THE    SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTEK.  159 

himself  quite  agreeable.  Notwithstanding,  some  of  the  aged 
dames  would  make  some  smiling  allusion  to  his  feat  of  bra 
very  in  the  fortress.  Duncan  never  alluded  to  the  fight, 
but  charged  his  forces  not  in  any  way  to  even  glance  at  the 
subject.  This  was  a  difficult  task  for  them  to  perform — but 
they  did  as  well  as  they  could,  and  much  better  than  they 
would  have  done  if  Duncan's  eye  had  not  been  on  them. 
At  twelve  o'clock  at  night  the  party  broke  up.  The  sleigh 
bells  gingled — and,  like  sprites,  they  were  on  the  wing. 
The  veteran  was  invited  to  spend  the  night  with  the  family. 
As  Duncan  took  the  lamp  to  show  Captain  Perrin  his  bed* 
chamber,  the  sage  thus  addressed  his  pupil  :  "  Duncan-— 
this  is  the  first  day  of  your  fame  :  I  would  not  prevent  you 
from  seeking  for  an  exalted  reputation  ;  but,  let  it  be  founded 
on  good  will  to  man  and  a  love  of  your  country  :  all  other 
glory  will  be  like  the  expiring  lamp  you  hold  in  your  hand — 
extinct  by  the  next  breath  of  time.  But,  a  patriot's  grave 
holds  no  common  dust.  I  have  marked  the  times,  my  son, 
and  not  one  in  twenty  who  bled  for  our  independence,  has, 
or  ever  will  have,  a  grave-stone  to  designate  the  spot  where 
his  ashes  may  rest.  But,  call  not  your  country  ungrateful : 
the  day  will  come  when  their  resting-places  shall  be  sought 
for—and  to  have  been  a  soldier  of  the  revolution  will  be  an. 
honorable  distinction,  and  perhaps  an  heritage  to  their  de. 
scendants.  Futurity  opens  to  my  view — and  I  see  the  day 
fast  coming  when  our  country  shall  rise  in  her  justice  and 
majesty  to  do  what  is  right  to  us  who  are  now  suffering  and 
repining.  New  paths  of  glory  will  be  open  to  the  rising 
generation.  You  will  be  called  to  take  a  share.  Act  well 
your  part — and  whether  you  sleep  on  the  bed  of  honor,  or 
rise  to  political  eminence,  or  grasp  the  wreaths  of  military 
glory,  let  honor  be  your  guide,  and  love  of  country  your 
principle.  Good  night.  My  blessing  rest  upon  you." 


160  THE    SOLDIEE-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

Duncan  retired  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  He  did  not  know 
that  he  was  very  ambitious  or  vain  ;  but,  for  the  first  time, 
he  now  stretched  his  views  forward,  in  contemplating  his 
future  course  of  life ;  and  so  many  paths  seemed  opened 
upon  him,  that  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know  which  to  choose. 
One  seemed  dark  and  dreary  for  awhile,  and  then  became 
lighter  and  smoother  ;  others  opened  in  a  flood  of  light,  but 
seemed  at  last  to  lead  to  dismal  swamps,  full  of  crocodiles 
and  venomous  serpents.  There  were  some  few  who  looked 
vigorous  and  strong,  far  up  the  mountain  side.  "  I  will," 
said  he,  "  follow  them — for  at  that  elevation  they  have  a 
good  survey  of  the  country,  and  can  better  judge  which 
pathway  to  select.  This  mountain  must  exhibit  the  heights 
of  knowledge  to  which  I  must  climb  before  I  am  called  upon 
to  judge."  With  this  explanation  (satisfactory  to  his  own 
mind)  he  sunk  to  repose. 

Captain  Perrin  continued  in  the  same  occupations  for 
many  succeeding  years,  with  the  same  zeal,  if  not  with  the 
same  energy  and  effect ;  every  day  growing  thrifty  by  his 
industry  and  prudence.  Fie  wept  bitterly  when  he  saw 
some  of  his  old  companions  in  arms,  who  had  spent  their 
time,  since  the  close  of  the  war,  in  idleness  and  in  useless 
complaining.  The  broken-down  soldier,  however,  found 
sustenance  at  the  captain's  hospitable  mansion,  and  never 
was  turned  from  the  door,  even  if  the  master  was  not  there, 
naked  or  hungry.  His  orders  were  permanent,  and  strictly 
obeyed.  He  was  often  the  means  of  putting  some  of  these 
objects  of  charity  in  a  way  of  earning  their  bread  :  this 
made  him  truly  happy.  He  felt  the  ingratitude  of  the  na 
tion,  but  he  hated  to  hear  of  it,  for  he  always  found  that  the 
greatest  grumbler  was  the  idlest  man.  He  frequently  pro- 
phesied  that  the  nation  would  one  day  awake,  and  make  some 
display  of  justice,  however  late. 


THE    SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER.  161 

When  we  trace  the  growth  of  a  people,  we  are  often  led 
to  remark  how  many  impressions  on  society  one  individual 
may  leave.  This  schoolmaster  in  a  new  country,  by  a 
playful  display  of  military  prowess  and  a  love  of  military 
men,  elicited  a  spirit  which,  perhaps,  ages  may  not  extin 
guish.  Duncan  was  a  general  officer  on  the  frontiers  in 
the  war  of  1812,  and  has  frequently  been  heard  to  observe, 
that  many  of  the  best  officers  he  had  under  him,  he  found 
had  been  educated  in  Captain  Perrin's  military  school  in 
the  section  of  the  country  from  whence  he  came.  They 
were  brave,  well  disciplined,  and  full  of  patriotism.  Such 
is  education. 

The  soldier-school-master  lived  to  reach  his  eighty-sixth 
year  :  saw  his  country  prosperous  and  happy — and  at  last 
had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  his  military  pension,  which  he 
divided  among  his  grandchildren,  as  their  patrimony,  in  order 
to  see  them  flourishing  while  he  was  living.  The  captain 
died  in  his  chair  on  the  3rd  of  July,  while  looking  on  the 
moon  and  stars  of  a  clear  and  brilliant  night,  and  enquiring 
what  preparations  had  been  made  for  the  morrow — the  anni 
versary  of  the  glorious  Declaration  of  Independence.  Being 
told  that  a  regiment  would  be  out  for  parade,  and  for  an 
escort  to  the  civil  procession,  he  seemed  pleased  ;  and,  on 
hearing  the  name  of  the  orator  of  the  day — one  of  his  former 
pupils — he  exclaimed,  with  great  animation,  "  /  taught  that 
boy ;  he  will  do  well ;  his  country's  history  is  familiar  to  him." 
It  was  his  last  sentence  ;  the  martial  spirit  of  the  patriot  had 
burst  from  its  earthly  habitation  :  he  had  expired  without  a 

sigh. 

"  So  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
With  all  their  country's  honor  blest." 

On  the  morning  of  the  4th,  the  troops  began  to  assemble 
at  the  dawn  of  day.  The  highest  officer  on  the  parade 


162  THE    SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 

ground  at  sunrise  was  Sergeant  Johnson — who  was  every 
inch  a  soldier.  He  WHS  proud  of  his  rank,  and  held  it  for 
many  years,  refusing  promotion — preferring  rather  to  be  con 
sidered  the  first  non-commissioned  officer  in  the  State,  to  any 
other  post  of  honor.  He  was  the  favorite  of  all  who  knew 
him.  He  had  heard  of  the  death  of  Captain  Perrin  as  he 
came  on  in  the  night-time  to  be  first  on  the  parade  ground. 
At  sunrise  he  mounted  a  stump,  having  formed  his  men  into 
a  hollow  square,  and  thus  communicated  the  sad  intelli 
gence  : — 

"  Attention,  the  whole  !  Comrades — I  have  the  melan 
choly  duty  to  inform  you,  that  the  veteran  Captain  Jacob 
Perrin  has  grounded  his  arms  here,  to  be  transferred  to  a  more 
select  corps  in  another  world.  He  died  last  night,  talking 
of  independence  and  freedom — and  lies  free  among  the  dead. 
I  have  heard  father  tell  (and  father  knew)  that  the  old  cap 
tain  went  out  to  fight  as  cool  as  a  cucumber — fought  it  out 
like  a  dragon — and  sat  quiet  when  it  was  all  over :  enquired 
for  the  dead  and  missing,  and  if  any  thing  could  be  done- 
for  the  wounded ;  and,  after  seeing  to  all  things,  he  drew 
his  sword,  and  laid  it  under  his  head,  and  took  a  little  hori 
zontal  repose,  in  order  to  refresh  himself  for  a  new  sum 
mons.  He  never  minded  the  whistling  of  balls — it  was 
music  to  his  ears.  Fie  turned  out  on  hearing  of  the  battle  of 
Lexington,  and  never  left  the  army  until  he  saw  the  last  red 
coat  at  New  York.  He  stood  by  General  Washington  firm 
as  a  rock,  when  some  of  the  discontented  were  for  '  cutting 
up  shines '  at  Newburg.  He  was  too  much  of  a  soldier  to 
get  into  a  scrape  against  discipline — too  much  of  a  patriot  to 
curse  his  country,  when  it  would  do  no  good — and  too  wise 
to  ask  the  Congress  for  pay,  when  they  had  not  a  dollar  to 
help  themselves  with.  When  he  came  home,  (poor  as  a 
church  mouse,)  he  was  not  too  proud  to  go  to  work,  but  laid 


THE    SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER.  163 

right  hold,  as  a  man  who  intended  to  earn  his  bread  and 
cheese  before  he  eat  it.  He  had  not  a  drop  of  idle  blood  in 
his  veins.  He  never  went  loitering  to  a  grog  shop  to  get  a 
dram  for  telling  a  story — but,  when  he  was  there,  he  treated 
all.  Not  that  he  was  caught  there  often  ;  but,  at  his  house 
he  was  always  a  prince.  I  don't  know  enough  of  other 
military  officers  to  make  comparisons  ;  but  this  I  can  say — 
that  all  the  old  revolutionaries  used  to  say,  that  he  was  a 
Joe  Warren  of  a  fellow — and  that,  I  think,  is  saying  enough. 
For  my  part,  I  used  fo  think  that  I  had  got  something  to 
compare  the  captain  to,  and  not  a  homely  comparison  nei 
ther  :  it  was  to  a  famous  knife  belonging  to  father ;  it  was 
great  in  the  meat  way  ;  it  was  excellent  in  cutting  stalks — 
and  for  whittling,  it  was  the  best  in  all  the  country :  it  was 
forever  in  service.  A  few  turns  on  the  grindstone  would 
always  put  it  in  order.  It  grew  thin  on  the  back,  and  de 
cayed  at  the  edge,  but  was  always  'cute,  until,  in  hard  service, 
it  snapped  in  two,  when  father  picking  up  the  parts,  saved 
them  to  make  a  razor.  And  I  believe  that  the  old  captain 
will  go  through  a  new  forge,  and  be  made  something  wonder 
fully  bright.  When  our  colonel  comes,  he  will  make  you  a 
speech  as  sweet  as  a  good  band  of  music  playing  on  the  water 
in  a  moonlight  night ; — but  nobody  will  ever  love  the  cap 
tain  better  than  Sergeant  Johnson." 

Here  ended  the  harangue  of  the  sergeant — and,  homely 
as  it  was,  it  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  the  soldiers.  Of 
the  colonel's  eulogy  we  have  no  copy — but  the  speech  of 
the  sergeant  our  memory  has  faithfully  retained.  Such 
were  the  men  who  fought  out  the  battles  of  the  revolution 
for  our  country,  and  made  a  part  of  her  strength  and  vir 
tues  when  the  fight  was  done. 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY. 


<Ye  guardian  spirits,  to  whom  man  is  dear, 

From  all  foul  demons  shield  the  midnight  gloom ! 

Angels  of  fancy  and  of  love,  be  near, 
And  o'er  the  blank  of  sleep  diffuse  a  bloom !" 


"  What  time  the  moon  had  hung  her  lamp  on  high, 
And  pass'd  in  radiance  through  the  cloudless  sky, 
Sad  o'er  the  dews,  the  '  Spectre  Beauty  '  came." 


IT  has  been  the  belief  in  every  age  and  nation,  that  man 
has  a  mortal  and  an  immortal  part ;  and  that  when  these 
are  separated  by  death,  the  corporeal  part  descends  to  min 
gle  with  the  dust  from  which  it  came,  and  the  spiritual 
ascends  to  the  Source  from  which  it  emanated.  This  spiri 
tual  part,  under  many  names,  is  one  and  the  same  substance, 
whether  called  manes,  ghosts,  shades,  spectres,  &c.  There 
has  been,  and  still  is,  a  belief  that  the  unincumbered  spirit 
is  sometimes  permitted  to  walk  the  earth  for  extraordinary 
purposes.  The  nations  of  antiquity  had  a  great  reverence 
for  the  dead,  and  the  most  affectionate  ceremonies  were 
regarded  in  funerals.  Besides  being  embalmed,  the  buried 
dead  of  Egypt  often  slept  in  costly  edifices  built  to  secure 
their  repose.  The  general  impression  among  them  was, 
that  the  shades  of  those  suffered  to  remain  on  earth  unburied 

O 


166  THE    SPECTRE   BEAUTY. 

and  unblessed  by  religious  funeral  rites,  wandered  an  hun 
dred  years  on  the  banks  of  the  Styx,  before  they  could  induce 
the  unaccommodating  boatman,  Charon,  to  ferry  them  across 
his  dark  waters.  These  mysteries  of  the  imagination  have 
come  down  to  the  present  day,  through  the  most  enlightened 
nations  of  the  Pagan  world.  The  Greeks  and  Romans 
refined  upon  the  Egyptian  religious  mysteries,  but  their 
essentials  were  retained.  Patriotism  and  military  glory  were, 
in  the  minds  of  these  intelligent  and  warlike  people,  connected 
with  funeral  honors,  and  these  with  the  repose  of  the  soul. 
The  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  although  believers  in  the  ap 
pearance  of  departed  spirits,  did  not  imagine  that  they  were 
called  up  on  trivial  occasions.  The  ghosts  of  those  who 
remained  unburied,  Timotheus  brought  to  the  monarch's 
view  in  the  "  feast  for  Persia  won,"  had  only  to  complain 
that  they  remained  unburied  ;  this  was  sufficient  to  whet  his 
vengeance  :  the  shade  of  mighty  Caesar  only  arose  to  shako 
the  assassin's  soul.  The  stern  courage  and  hardihood  of 
the  ancients  would  not  suffer  the  nurseries  of  their  children 
to  be  filled  with  the  chimeras  of  the  imagination  ;  and  if  the 
seeds  of  superstition  are  not  implanted  in  the  youthful  mind, 
they  are  seldom  found  in  the  adult.  After  the  decline  and  fall 
of  the  Roman  empire,  arid  the  Christian  religion  was  estab 
lished  in  a  great  part  of  Europe,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
superstition  was  rapidly  on  the  increase.  The  superstitions 
of  the  enlightened  ancients  were  not  lost,  but  were  mingled 
with  those  of  rude  nations,  and  assumed  in  most  instances 
less  lovely  forms.  The  Druidial  forms  of  religious  worship 
were  full  of  superstitions  borrowed  from  still  more  remote 
ages.  The  northern  nations  had  their  fierce  and  bloody  mys. 
teries  :  necromancers,  enchanters,  and  wizards,  were  a  part 
of  these  creatures  of  fiction,  and  held  a  formidable  sway 
over  the  minds  of  men.  These  superstitions  took  a  cast  from 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  167 

the  character  of  the  people  among  whom  they  were  found. 
While,  among  the  Scandinavians,  Odin  drank  his  wine-blood 
from  the  skulls  of  his  enemies,  and  shook  the  mountains  with 
the  thunders  of  his  voice,  the  refined  Arabian  placed  the 
parent  of  their  ever  busy  genii,  who  generally  labored  to  do 
good,  in  ithe  placid  form  of  a  monstrous  egg,  on  the  lofty 
heights  of  Mount  Caucasus.  All  their  imaginations  were 
full  of  meaning.  This  white  egg  was  an  historical  emblem  ; 
for,  from  that  region,  came  the  white  race  of  men  now  called 
the  Caucassian  race  ;  and  who  are  now  masters  of  the 
world — holding  the  first  rank  in  the  scale  of  human  beings, 
in  form  and  intellect,  as  well  as  in  physical  power.  The 
superstitions  of  our  ancestors  underwent  a  new  revolution 
during  the  crusades ;  but,  the  imagination  gained  by  an  ac 
quaintance  with  the  taste  of  the  East,  on  the  one  hand,  while 
it  lost  by  the  great  prevalence  in  the  belief  of  witchcraft 
which  about  that  time  began  to  be  general.  The  destruc 
tion  of  the  two  higher  orders  of  the  Druids  gave  the  most 
inferior  order,  from  which  sprung  the  weird  sisters,  a  chance 
to  diffuse  the  dregs  of  this  once  sublime  worship  through  the 
grades  of  ignorance  and  crime. 

When  our  ancestors  first  came  to  this  country,  notwith 
standing  all  their  piety  and  firm  reliance  on  Providence, 
they  brought  with  them  all  the  floating  superstitions  of  the 
mother  country.  From  generation  to  generation  these  were 
handed  down,  hardly  ever  running  along  with  the  common 
currents  of  knowledge,  but,  as  it  were,  in  subterranean  chan- 
nels,  and  only  at  particular  times  coming  to  the  surface  of 
the  earth  ; — as  in  the  delusion  of  1692,  when  several  inno 
cent  persons  suffered  death  on  the  gallows,  from  the  fanati 
cism  of  the  age.  The  reaction  then  experienced,  checked 
all  the  open  evils  arising  from  these  superstitions  ;  but  still, 
a  belief  that  wicked  spirits  were  allowed  at  times  to  walk 


168  THE    SPECTRE   BEAUTY. 

the  earth,  lingered  in  the  land.  Even  when  fashion  had 
made  it  ungenteel  to  talk  of  witches,  there  was  no  canon 
against  a  belief  in  ghosts.  This  was  thought  by  many  pious 
guides  of  life  to  be  beneficial.  It  might  restrain  many  from 
evil  deeds,  to  believe  that  a  departed  friend  had  the  power 
to  overlook  our  actions  :  but,  every  species  of  deception, 
however  honestly  intended,  is  wrong.  This  species  of  belief, 
by  sleeping  so  long,  was  hardly  supposed  to  exist  by  many ; 
but,  like  the  elemental  fire  of  nature,  when  awoke  by  fric 
tion  and  fanned  by  fresh  breezes,  was  found  to  pervade  the 
whole  mass  of  minds  in  greater  or  less  degrees. 

In  a  well-educated  country  town,  a  sexton  who  had  labored 
so  long  in  his  vocation  that  he  was  callous  as  to  the  person 
who  might  sleep  in  the  house  he  built  for  doomsday,  went 
one  warm  night  in  the  month  of  August,  when  the  moon 
Was  shining  bright  as  day,  to  dig  a  grave,  to  save  the  labor 
of  working  under  a  warm  sun.  While  he  was  amusing 
himself  with  humming  a  tune,  and  probably  congratulating 
himself  on  having  planted  successive  generations  in  the 
regions  round  about,  and  dreaming  of  continuing  his  trade 
until  the  then  living  were  gone,  left  his  spade  and  mattox  in 
a  nearly  finished  work,  to  take  a  drop  of  cooling  comfort 
which  he  had  prepared  to  solace  himself  with,  as  fatigue 
overtook  him.  Like  his  predecessor  in  Hamlet,  he  threw 
out  a  skull.  He  recollected  that  thirty  years  before,  he  had 
deposited  the  body  of  one  Loomis  Mattox  in  that  very  place ; 
and,  on  taking  it  into  his  hands,  knew  it  at  once.  "  Well, 
Old  Mat,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  your  scraping  and  shav 
ing,  your  screwing  and  cheating,  did  not  do  you  any  good. 
Heaven  support  me  !  how  I  should  like  to  tell  you,  if  you 
could  understand  it,  where  you  are  ; — a  place  where  I  should 
not  wish  to  be !  How  your  dollars  went  in  law-suits — all 
the  parties  cursing  your  memory,  as  they  lost  their  causes ! 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  169 

0,  I  recollect  how  the  lawyers  did  talk  of  you  before  the 
jury  !  but,  thank  God,  I  did  not  tell  them  how  you  cheated 
me  out  of  half  a  summer's  work,  and,  according  to  your 
account,  I  owed  you  when  I  dug  your  grave  ;  but  I  knew 
better — and  have  had  my  revenge — for,  when  I  wanted  to 
hide  a  dead  negro  for  a  day  or  two,  for  the  doctor,  I  have 
made  use  of  your  grave,  as  it  was  easy  digging,  and  I  did 
not  care  a  cent  for  disturbing  you ;  I  knew  you  could  not 
touch  me.  I  believe  that  such  an  old  miser  as  you  were 
could  not  appear  to  a  dog!"  As  he  was  soliloquizing,  he 
threw  the  skull  aside,  saying  aloud,  "  Lie  there  ! — I  will 
keep  your  old  skull  above  ground :  I  will  make  you  do 
some  good :  I  will  give  you  to  the  doctor,  that  you  may 
hang  up  in  his  office  to  make  among  others  a  show  of  his 
caring  nothing  for  death  :  and  faith,  although  he  is  considered 
skilful,  1  don't  think  he  does  much^-for  he  often  says  to  me, 
'Bill,  get  ready — he  will  drop  away  about  day-break ;'  and 
it  always  happens  so,  unless  I  steal  in  and  give  the  poor  sick 
fellow  some  of  my  medicine — and  then  sometimes  he  gets 
well ;  but,  between  me  and  the  moon,  I  must  say,  that  he 
more  often  gets  off  before  the  time  :  but  it  is  all  one — for  I 
never  get  credit  for  it  if  I  cure ;  and,  however,  if  I  don't, 
nobody  is  the  wiser  for  it." 

After  this  soliloquy,  Bill  turned  his  head  to  the  flight  of 
steps  which  led  into  and  out  of  the  grave-yard,  and  saw  a 
ghost -rise  from  the  street  and  descend  into  the  yard.  He 
gazed  for  a  moment,  when  his  courage  forsook  him,,  and  he 
uttered  a  scream,  and  fled — leaving  skull,  and  the  tools  of  his 
trade  where  they  were  lying  when  he  was  muttering  to  him 
self;  nor  did  he  return  until  the  sun  had  dried  every  dew- 
drop  from  the  grass^when  he  brought  off  the  skull.. 

After  the  funeral  that  day,  Bill  told  the  story  of  the  ghost, 
and  added — "  If  the  ghost  had  come  in  the  shape  of  Old 
O  2 


170  THE  SPECTRE  BEAUTY. 

Mattox,  I  would  have  made  fight  before  I  would  have  left 
my  farm  for  him."  As  this  story  was  noised  about,  the 
young  men  would  make  Bill  tell  it  over  a  glass  of  liquor ; 
and  he  always  said  he  was  willing  to  take  his  Bible  oath  of  it» 
Not  long  after  this,  two  young  women  coming  from  a  neigh 
boring  friend's,  (where  they  had  been  waiting  in  hopes  to  see 
a  long  absent  relation  that  night,  expected  to  visit  his  home, 
from  a  long  voyage)  declared  that  they  had  seen  a  ghost  pre 
cisely  where  the  sexton  had  seen  one  before.  These  young 
ladies  were  highly  respectable,  and  not  given  to  superstition. 
They  told  the  story  with  so  much  exactness,  that  many  were 
inclined  to  believe  that  this  apparition  was  out  of  the  com 
mon  course  of  those  created  by  the  fears  of  the  timid.  The 
young  ladies  of  a  female  academy  in  the  village  took  up  the 
subject,  and  hunted  up  every  ghost  story  that  had  been  pre 
served  in  tradition  or  print — and  they  were  becoming  so 
timid  and  ridiculous,  that  the  guardians  of  the  institution 
began  to  think  that  something  must  be  done  to  check  the 
progress  of  this  disease  of  credulity,  which  at  once  affected 
their  pursuits  and  their  minds.  The  clergyman  of  the  parish 
was  a  venerable  divine,  who  had  passed  his  seventieth  year; 
of  a  sound  mind  and  body,  learned  and  philosophic,  and  far 
above  the  superstitions  of  any  age.  He  set-  about  stemming 
the  delusion — and,  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  gave  notice  that 
he  should,  on  the  next  Lord's  Day,  preach  upon  supernatural 
agency,  and  intimated  most  strongly  that  the  late  wonderful 
reports  were  occasioned  by  some  successful  delusion  played 
off  by  wags,  who  wished  to  disturb  the  quiet  of  the  parish. 
The  next  Sunday  the  church  was  crowded — people  coming 
from  all  quarters  to  hear  the  learned  doctor  on  such  a  sub 
ject.  He  took  for  his  text  a  part  of  two  verses  in  the  44th 
chapter  of  Genesis  : — 

"  Is  not  this  the  cup  in  which  ray  lord  drinketh,  and  whereby, 
indeed,  he  divineth  ?" 
0  Wot  ye  not,  that  such  a  man  as  I  can  certainly  divine  ?" 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  171 

The  learned  divine  entered  deeply  into  the  mysteries  and 
arts  of  the  Egyptians — which  all  who  believed  or  not,  were 
bound  to  treat  with  profound  reverence ;  and  Joseph,  who 
was  so  near  the  king,  was  under  the  necessity  of  keeping 
the  cup  of  divination  in  his  hand,  as  one  of  the  inspired  among 
the  E  jyptian  rulers,  to  give  force  to  advice,  and  authority 
to  commands  ;  but  there  is  no  instance  on  record  of  his  using 
his  cup  of  divination,  except  to  alarm  his  brethren,  to  bring 
them  to  remorse  and  penitence  for  their  former  cruelty  to 
himself  and  father.  The  history  of  the  plagues,  from  the 
pen  of  Moses,  leaves  no  impression  on  the  mind  that  the 
magicians,  and  soothsayers,  and  diviners,  were  any  more 
than  learned  men,  who  practised  mysterious  arts  to  awe  the 
ignorant,  by  the  appearance  of  supernatural  agency.  He 
next  proceeded  to  grapple  with  the  witch  pfJEndor — a  sub 
ject  which  he  confessed  was  the  toughest  bit  of  magic  con 
tained  in  the  Scriptures ;  but  he  nevertheless  went  to  work 
to  demolish  her  pretensions,  without  ceremony.  He  contend 
ed,  that  if  she  had  possessed  a  familiar  spirit,  and  that  of  a 
high  order,  why  did  she  not  know  Saul,  even  in  his  disguise  1 
To  prove  that  it  was  a  deception — when  a  miracle  was 
really  wrought,  to  bring  up  the  shade  of  the  prophet,  the 
witch  of  Endor  was  as  much  surprised  as  the  monarch  of 
Israel  :  the  spirit  of  righteous  Samuel  forboded  every  thing 
of  ill  to  the  foolish  king — perhaps  in  part  for  the  impiety  of 
his  inquiry.  "  I  do  not  love,"  said  the  preacher,  "  to  trust 
much  to  verbal  criticism  :  I  prefer  to  take  the  broad  grounds 
of  general  reasoning  in  the  discussion  of  a  subject  j  but,  if 
I  were  to  make  a  critical  remark  upon  the  Hebrew  lan 
guage,  I  should  say,  that  the  term  used  for  witch,  meant  a 
professor  of  necromancy,  rather  than  a  necromancer.  The 
laws  of  every  land  since  that  time,  have  been  against  tellers 
of  fortunes  and  pretenders  to  the  familiar  art.  No  tolerance 


172  THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY. 

of  witchcraft  grew  out  of  this  case  ;  nor  is  there  any  evi 
dence,  from  this  instance,  that  there  ever  was  any  thing  like 
spiritual  agency  acknowledged  by  the  wise  men  of  Israel, 
but  such  as  came  from  other  quarters.  Our  ancestors  blun 
dered  over  this  text,  from  a  want  of  liberal  feeling,  and  deep 
and  fair  canons  of  criticism  ;  and  the  commentaries  of  Cotton 
Mather  do  not  weigh  as  much  as  the  dust  of  the  balance  in 
the  minds  of  any  enlightened  men.  The  priests  of  ancient 
days  were  condemned — and  we  boast  our  superiority  over 
them  :  and  why  do  we  assume  all  this  superiority  ? — because 
we  say  that  we  are  wiser  than  they.  Do  we  show  this 
wisdom,  by  encouraging  superstition  ?  Omnipotence  wastes 
no  efforts  ;  every  end  is  brought  about  by  regular  means, 
unless  the  objects  to  be  obtained  are  beyond  the  common 
laws  of  nature.  When  God  suffers  miracles  to  be  wrought 
by  the  plenitude  of  his  power,  it  is  for  reasons  wise  and  just. 
What  object  could  heaven  have  in  sending  the  apparition  of 
a  woman  into  our  grave-yard,  unto  those  who  suppose  they 
have  seen  a  spectre  ?  Has  this  spirit  made  any  communi 
cation  which  will  go  to  show  the  perpetration  of  crimes 
unstripped  of  justice  1  Were  there  spots  of  blood  on  the 
grave-clothes  she  wore  ?  Has  any  one  suddenly  disappeared 
from  the  country  about  us,  whose  death  could  not  be  ration 
ally  accounted  for  by  the  common  laws  of  dissolution?  Do 
not,  my  hearers,  be  deceived  by  these  idle  tales  :  rest  awhile, 
and  the  whole  thing  will  be  made  plain  to  you.  I  am  now 
passed  the  ordinary  boundaries  of  human  life,  and  I  can 
safely  say,  that  all  the  stories  of  supernatural  agency  which 
I  have  heard  of,  when  thoroughly  examined,  have  all  been 
accounted  for  upon  known  principles,." 

The  preacher  called  upon  his  Christian  auditors  to  brace 
up  their  minds  to  a  reliance  on  God,  and  not  stand  trembling 
under  the  fear  of  demons,  ghosts,  spirits,  or  any  of  the  spec. 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  173 

tre  creation — who  are  all  born  of  weak  nerves,  and  encou 
raged  by  weak  brains,  and,  from  the  best  authenticated 
stories,  make  their  appearance  for  trifling  purposes.  "  Ac 
cording  to  popular  belief,  they  have  no  power  over  the  good  ; 
and  our  Saviour  has  said,  that  *  If  ye  believe  not  Moses  and 
the  prophets,  neither  would  ye  if  one  were  raised  from  the 
dead.''  Go,  keep  a  watch  over  your  actions  ;  bring  them 
to  the  acceptance  of  God  ;  purify  your  hearts,  and  prepare 
them  for  the  abode  of  every  holy  feeling, — and  no  spectres 
will  ever  dance  before  your  eyes.  Virtue  is  a  talisman, 
my  dear  young  ladies,  that  will  preserve  you  if  you  were 
surrounded  by  an  hundred  spectres.  Even  the  visions  of 
antiquity  taught  this — and  shall  not  Christianity  teach  as 
much  as  the  Pagan  muse  or  Pagan  priests  ?  If  your  imagi 
nations  must  be  peopled  with  supernatural  thoughts,  turn 
from  monkish  legends  and  vulgar  stories.  Dismiss  your 
witches,  riding  through  the  air  on  a  vile  stick,  or  interfering 
with  the  ordinary  processes  of  household  affairs — and  fill 
your  memories  with  such  images  as  are  given  by  Milton 
in  the  Mask  of  Comus.  Milton,  who  stamped  the  genius  of 
antique  thought  with  images  of  revelation — who  coursed 
other  worlds  with  a  seraph's  wing,  and  sung  their  wonders 
on  a  seraph's  harp — sweetly  says, — 

'  So  dear  to  heav'ri  is  saintly  chastity, 
That  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 
A  thousand  liveried  angels  lackey  her — 
Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt; 
And  in  clear  dream,  and  solemn  vision, 
Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear ; 
Till  oft  converse  with  heav'nly  'habitants 
Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  th'  outward  shape, 
(The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind) 
And  turns  it,  by  degrees,  to  the  soul's  essence, 
Till  all  be  made  immortal.' 

"  Raise  and  exalt  your  minds,  and  leave  the  dreams  of  the 
vulgar  to  sink  as  they  arose — in  the  fens  and  marshes  of 


174  THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY. 

stagnant  intellects.  The  ignis-fatuus  was  never  seen  in 
pure  mountain  air  :  the  deceiving  vapor  that  shines  with  a 
phosphorous  glare,  skims  along  the  low,  sour,  and  unhealthy 
grounds  ;  so  in  the  moral  world  we  find  in  uncultivated  minds 
these  sketchy,  dreamy,  miserable  vapors  of  the  brain." 

The  sermon  undoubtedly  had  its  effect.  The  young 
ladies  looked  much  brighter  than  they  had  a  day  or  two 
before,  when  the  ghost  story  was  at  its  height ;  and  many 
sat  down  to  examine  the  numerous  passages  of  Scripture 
that  the  good  old  man  had  quoted.  It  was  thought  that  the 
subject  would  soon  die  away — but  in  the  course  of  three  or 
four  days  the  story  began  to  float  again.  John  Frink— 
a  dissipated  young  man — returning,  towards  morning,  from 
tavern  indulgences,  was  sadly  frightened  at  an  apparition 
near  the  same  place.  He  went  before  a  magistrate,  and 
made  affidavit  to  the  fact ;  but  this  was  not  very  satisfactory 
to  the  sober  part  of  the  community — for  a  jury  would  have 
paid  but  little  attention  to  the  oath  of  such  a  man  ;  but,  in  a 
time  of  excitement,  the  testimony  of  those  of  most  doubtful 
veracity  have  influence  with  the  ignorant.  Not  many  days 
after  Frink  made  his  affidavit,  Deacon  Moody — one  of  the 
meekest  men  in  the  town,  or  perhaps  within  an  hundred 
miles  of  it — declared  to  the  parson,  that  the  ghost  had  ap 
peared  to  him  as  he  was  returning  home  from  watching  part 
of  the  night  with  a  sick  friend.  The  clergyman,  a  little 
sharply,  enquired  of  his  deacon  if  he  had  followed  the  ghost. 
"  No,"  was  the  reply — "  I  was  lawfully  in  the  street,  in  the 
course  of  my  honest  duties,  and  there  I  found  courage  ;  but 
what  right  had  I  to  follow  the  apparition — to  pry  into  the 
secrets  of  the  grave  ?"  The  parson  smiled,  and  thought  this 
reply  the  very  Jesuitism  of  fear — but  still  insisted  to  the 
deacon  that  he  should  have  taken  pains  to  have  made  him. 
self  satisfied  whether  the  being  he  saw  was  supernatural  or 
not. 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  175 

This  dialogue  between  the  dignitaries  of  the  church  was 
held  in  the  presence  of  a  third  person — a  student  in  divinity, 
who  had  been  studying  for  some  time  with  the  learned  clergy 
man,  but  who  had  been  on  a  journey  during  this  excitement, 
and  now  for  the  first  time  became  acquainted  with  the  rumor 
and  the  consequent  agitation.  He  was  sound  in  his  creed — 
more  orthodox  than  his  instructor ;  but  he  was  more 
modern  in  his  learning,  and  for  the  mysteries  of  antiquity 
he  had  used  the  German  key  of  interpretation — and  if  a 
supernatural  being  crossed  his  imagination,  he  was  sure  to 
chase  it  down  with  the  full  cry  of  German  philosophy.  To 
him,  who  was  half  a  Swedenborgian,  a  ghost  was  nothing 
but  a  pleasant  companion — and  he  avowed  his  intention  of 
spending  the  night  in  the  grave-yard,  for  the  purpose  of  be 
coming  acquainted  with  the  spectre  ;  adding,  that  if  he  had 
not  piety  and  holiness  enough  to  exorcise  a  ghost,  he  trusted 
that  he  had  nerve  enough  to  meet  one. 

The  deacon  was  horror-struck  ;  the  parson  smiled,  and 
encouraged  the  determination.  The  evening  was  warm — 
the  sky  clear — and  the  moon  arose  about  ten  o'clock.  Not 
far  from  eleven  he  ventured  to  the  church-yard — took  a 
walk  around  it — and  saw,  as  he  believed,  that  there  was 
nothing  but  the  dead  in  that  place  to  form  an  apparition  from. 
After  strolling  about  for  an  hour  or  more,  he  stretched  him 
self  on  a  tomb-stone,  which  he  saw,  by  close  inspection,  had 
been  erected  in  honor  of  a  village  great  man,  who  was  dis 
tinguished,  according  to  the  record,  in  church  and  state. 
The  student  philosophized  awhile  on  the  vanity  of  fame, — 
so  short-lived,  and  so  equivocal  while  in  existence.  Doub 
ling  his  cloak^which  he  wore  to  defend  himself  from  the 
dew — for  a  pillow,  he  began  to  gaze  on  the  heavens,  and 
soon  felt  that  "anundevout  astronomer  is  mad."  Space, 
matter,  motion,  time,  crowded  on  his  mind,  until  his  position 


176  THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY. 

and  the  object  of  his  mission  were  forgotten.  If  ever  the 
human  mind  rises  to  the  full  dignity  of  its  nature,  and  to  the 
extent  of  its  powers,  it  is  in  contemplating  the  heavens,  with 
a  full  glow  of  adoration  to  the  God  who  made  them,  while 
standing  on  the  ashes  of  past  generations.  In  the  midst  of 
these  feelings  of  homage  to  our  Maker,  there  arises  a  grati 
tude  to  him  for  allowing  us  to  know  so  much  of  the  machi 
nery  of  his  universe,  that  we  can  point  out  the  constellations 
as  they  journey  onward,  and  calculate  times  and  seasons  by 
distant  worlds ;  and  with  this  gratitude,  (not  entirely  free 
from  pride,)  there  comes  over  us  a  humbleness,  that  their 
origin  and  their  end,  and  even  most  of  their  laws  and  uses, 
are,  and  ever  will  be,  hid  in  darkness  from  us.  Whether 
these  worlds  commenced  their  march  never  to  end,  or  whe 
ther  their  days  are  numbered,  and  they,  like  ourselves,  are 
to  pass  away — is  a  problem  too  mighty  for  us  to  solve. 

Overwhelmed  by  these  profound  thoughts,  the  student  fell 
to  sleep,  and  remained  oblivious  until  he  was  awakened  by 
a  crackling  as  of  dried  bushes  under  some  light  footstep  ; 
when,  suddenly  raising  his  head,  he  saw  a  ghost  within  a 
few  feet  of  him  !  His  head  sunk  back  at  once  on  his  pillow, 
and  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
He  felt  as  if  sinking  into  a  solid  stone,  or  that  the  tomb, 
with  its  "ponderous  and  marble  jaws,  had  opened  to  receive 
him"  In  a  moment,  however,  he  was  collected — and,  rising 
from  his  bed,  with  great  drops  of  perspiration  standing  on 
his  brow,  he  looked  around,  and  all  the  mystery  was  at  once 
explained.  A  lovely  young  lady  of  his  acquaintance,  in  her 
Dight-dress,  stood  over  a  new-made  grave,  and,  waving  her 
handkerchief,  uttered,  in  a  low  and  solemn  voice,  a  farewell 
to  the  tenant  of  the  grave.  It  was  Julia  Abercrombie  who 
stood  before  him.  She  was  one  of  the  most  lovely  of  woman 
kind.  She  was  then  about  sixteen  years  of  age— still  a 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  177 

school  girl.  She  was  rather  above  the  common  height, 
and  exquisitely  proportioned.  Her  complexion  was  of  the 
most  brilliant  whiteness ;  her  eyes  were  of  that  light  azure, 
from  which  a  summer's  sun  seemed  to  beam.  Her  hair  was 
as  abundant  and  flowing  as  her's"  of  the  bowers  of  Eden,  in 
the  morning  of  creation.  Her  step  was  full  of  grace  and 
dignity.  She  was  a  rare  woman  ;  she  possessed  a  mind  of 
the  highest  order — which  had  been  improved  by  a  judicious 
education ;  and  she  moved  among  her  school -fellows  the 
exemplar  of  all, — peerless  among  her  peers — for  the  sweet 
ness  of  her  disposition  was  more  enchanting  than  the  per 
fection  of  her  personal  beauties. 

Among  her  confidants  and  bosom  friends,  the  dearest  to 
her  heart  was  Almira  Sunderland — a  beauty  of  quite  a  dif 
ferent  style.  Her  face  was  of  Grecian  contour  ;  her  hair 
and  eyes  were  dark  ;  and  her  complexion  that  of  a  brilliant 
brunette,  tinged  with  a  fine  carnation.  Her  form  had  more 
amplitude,  and  her  movements  and  her  spirits  were  more 
buoyant.  If  she  was  behind  her  dear  Julia  in  dignity,  she 
had  more  sprightliness  and  eloquence.  If  she  was  more 
gay  and  thoughtless,  her  feelings  were  more  acute,  and  she 
seized  the  affections  of  her  friends  with  sudden  surprise. 
These  lovely  twain  had  for  several  years  been  in  the  same 
course  of  education,  and  united  in  the  firmest  bonds  of  affec 
tion.  They  were  not  separated  for  a  single  day,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  they  never  could  be — but  Heaven  decreed  other 
wise.  Early  in  that  spring,  of  whose  midsummer  we  have 
been  talking,  Almira  caught  a  severe  cold,  from  wearing  thin 
shoes — the  gateway  of  death  to  thousands  of  young  females ; 
and,  from  paying  no  attention  to  it  at  first,  it  became  settled 
on  the  lungs.  When  the  physician  was  called,  he  soon  per 
ceived  that  it  was  all  over  with  her  ;  but  this  he  wisely  kept 
P 


178  THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY. 

from  her  friends — but  by  degrees  prepared  them  for  the 
severe  shock  they  were  to  receive.  She  lingered  for  a 
month  or  two  in  suspense  ;  but,  more  early  than  others 
believed,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  the  world — an 
early  victim  to  consumption.  Then  all  was  composure  ; 
she  breathed  not  a  sigh,  nor  expressed  a  wish  to  live.  She 
directed  her  friends  to  the  promises  of  the  Christian's  hope, 
and  prepared  to  make  her  bed  "with  the  forked  worm." 

No  one  felt  her  situation  more  acutely  than  Julia  Aber- 
crombie — who  never  left  her  friend  but  a  few  hours  at  a 
time,  in  all  her  sickness,  until  the  last  solemn  scene,  which 
to  Almira  was  so  full  of  joy,  that  it  seemed  to  all  around  her 
as  an  apotheosis.  She  was  buried  in  the  grave-yard — and 
Julia,  who  had  shown  symptoms  of  sleep-walking  in  her 
childhood,  had,  after  the  death  of  her  bosom  friend,  fallen 
into  the  habit  again,  and  had  several  times  left  her  bed  to 
visit  the  grave  of  the  once  lovely  Almira.  On  these  occa 
sions  she  had  been  seen  ;  but  no  one  thought  her  to  be  a 
somnambulist,  nor  had  she  the  slightest  suspicion  of  it  her 
self.  The  student  saw  her  safely  return  to  her  home,  but 
did  not  venture  to  speak  to  her,  for  fear  that  a  surprise 
might  have  a  sad  effect  upon  her  delicate  nerves. 

As  the  student  was  going  to  his  lodgings,  he  passed  the 
house  of  his  venerable  teacher,  and  saw  him  sitting  at  his 
chamber  window — for  he  had  seen  his  pupil  enter  the  grave 
yard,  and  had  anxiously  watched  for  his  return.  All  was 
explained  in  a  few  words,  to  the  delight  of  the  holy  man, 
who  had  struggled  with  all  his  might  to  stem  the  vain  belief 
his  parishioners  had  shown  in  spectres. 

The  next  morning  the  student  called  at  the  academy,  and 
found  that  Julia  was  not  at  school — she  having  in  the  morn 
ing  complained  of  a  severe  indisposition.  The  student  called 


THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY.  179 

at  her  lodgings,  and  heard  from  the  good  woman  of  the  house, 
that  Julia  was  depressed  in  spirits  and  sick  at  heart — having 
had  a  sad  dream,  with  which  the  student  was  connected. 
Julia  entered  the  parlor  with  a  melancholy  air — and,  as  the 
student  arose  to  meet  her,  he  said  to  her,  with  a  smile,  "Did 
you  know  that  among  my  other  acquirements,  I  was  an 
interpreter  of  dreams  of  the  highest  order  ? — for  I  not  only 
can  interpret  the  dream  you  had  last  night,  but,  without  a 
hint  from  you,  can  tell  you  what  that  dream  was."  He  then 
stated  to  her  the  whole  circumstances.  She  had  a  dreamy 
recollection  of  the  whole  visit,  but  could  hardly  be  persuaded 
that  it  was  not  a  dream.  "  If  you  have  any  doubts,"  said 
he,  "  whether  my  statements  are  reality  or  fiction,  permit  me 
to  tell  you,  that  as  you  were  turning  to  leave  Almira's  grave, 
a  briar  caught  your  foot,  and  lacerated  it  until  the  blood 
flowed  freely."  She  acknowledged  that  the  mysterious 
wound  had  given  her  some  trouble.  How  it  came,  she  could 
not  conjecture.  She  shuddered  to  think  of  these  wander 
ings — and  so  deep  was  the  impression  made  on  her  mind, 
that  a  perfect  cure  of  the  disease  of  somnambulism  was 
effected. 

The  clergyman,  on  the  next  Sunday,  alluded  to  the  ghost 
story— stated  the  facts,  without  mentioning  names — took 
occasion  to  lecture  his  people,  from  the  sexton  up  to  his 
deacon,  upon  the  folly  of  credulity — and  portrayed  the  evils 
which  would  have  followed  from  this  case,  unless  this  expla 
nation  had  forthwith  taken  place, — as  the  females  were  all 
about  leaving  the  institution — some  from  their  own  fears, 
and  some  from  the  fears  of  their  friends. 

More  than  thirty  years  have  come  and  gone  since  that 
period,  and  not  a  single  ghost  has  appeared  within  twenty 
miles  of  the  place.  The  salt  of  a  little  reason  in  society 


180  THE    SPECTRE    BEAUTY. 

often  preserves  the  people  from  superstition  foi  a  long  time. 
The  reign  of  sound  sense  is  propitious  to  religion,  to  the 
health  and  happiness  of  social  life. 

The  student  and  the  Spectre  Beauty  have  often  met  in 
the  pathway  of  life,  but  never  without  bringing  to  mind  the 
dramatic  incidents  of  that  early  period  of  their  existence. 


THE   HERMIT. 


"  The  modern  history  of  a  country  is  best  obtained  from  the  aged,  who  have 
been  actors  in  the  scenes  they  describe.  Suffering  and  glory  make  strong  impres 
sions  on  the  mind ;  and  eloquence  is  always  found  on  the  lips  of  an  honest 
witness.  What  the  eye  has  seen,  and  the  ear  heard,  and  the  heart  felt,  the 
tongue  muit  express  with  effect." 


THE  idiosyncracies  of  the  human  mind  afford  a  per 
petual  subject  for  the  investigation  of  the  philosopher. — 
The  head  and  the  heart  are  unfathomable  depths.  If  we 
can  make  out,  by  long  study,  some  of  the  passions  that  agi. 
tate  the  mind  of  man,  the  effects  of  their  combinations  are 
seldom  satisfactorily  traced.  That  which  would  just  arouse 
the  energies  of  one  mind  to  salutary  action,  would  break 
down  another. 

There  was  an  aged  itinerant  who  visited  all  parts  of  our 
country,  who  was  frequently  followed  by  the  school. boys — 
not  from  a  mischievous  disposition,  but  merely  to  hear  the- 
sharp  things  he  would  utter  when  vexed  by  them.  The 
boys  were  afraid  to  come  near  him — for  he  was  a  tall, 
athletic,  old  man,  and  carried  a  staff  higher  than  his  head. 
He  wore  a  wrapper  that  came  down  to  his  shoes,  tied  about 
him  with  a  military  sash,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  in 
use  ages  before.  His  hair  and  beard  were  white  as  snow. 
It  was  said,  that  at  certain  houses  where  he  condescended: 

P  2 


182  THE    HERMIT. 

to  pass  the  night,  he  would  talk  most  eloquently  of  olden 
wars  and  historical  events.     He  had  connexions,  who  tried 
to  persuade  him  from  this  rambling  mode  of  life ;    but  he 
grew  ferocious,  if  restrained — and  he  had  his  way.     He 
had  frequently  spent  a  night  with  a  farmer  who  had  a  hand 
some  library,  and   was  well-informed.     Here  he  was   at 
times  conversable,  and  the  family  listened  to  the  Hermit,  as 
the  boys  called  him,  with  delight.     He  had  been  absent 
for  some  time  from  the  house,   when  one  of  the  family  of 
boys  went  to  the  river  to  catch  some  fish.     All  the  fishing- 
tackle  was  kept  in  an  old  log-house  near  the  river,  which 
had  been  the  abode  of  the  first  white  settler  in  that  vicinity  ; 
and  the  present  owner  of  the  tract  of  land  would  not  suffer 
the  cabin  to  go  to  decay,  but  repaired  the  roofs,  and  the 
chimney — made  of  rude  stones  and  clay.     Here  were  also 
a  pile  of  dry  wood  and  a  tinder-box,  to  kindle  up  a  fire  at 
once,  if  any  one  came  from  fishing,  wet,  as  was  often  the 
case.     As  the  lad  entered  the  cabin,  he  saw  the  venerable 
form  of  the  Hermit  stretched  upon  some  hemlock  boughs  : 
he  was  speechless.     There  were  always  some  refreshments 
kept  in  an  old  chest  in  the  cabin,  and  these  were  administered 
at  once,  and  the  Hermit  began  to  revive.     The  comfortable 
fire  and  wholesome  food  had  their  full  effect — and  the  lad 
now  attempted  to  persuade  the  old  man  to  proceed  with  him 
to  his  father's  house,  where  he  was  sure  he  would  be  taken 
care  of;    but  the  old  man  was  pertinacious  in  his  refusal. 
He  said  he  had  come  into  that  cabin  to  die,  and  he  should 
stay  there  until  that  event  should  happen.     The  lad  went 
home  forthwith,  and  told  his  parents  the  story.     A  cot-bed 
was  sent  to  him,  and  all  the  food  and  utensils  he  might  want. 
They  thought  that  by  indulging  him  for  a  day  or  two,  he 
would  get  over  his  freak,  and  be  willing  to.  take  up  his  abode 
somewhere  else,  or  set  out  again  on  his  rambles.     Day 


THE    HERMIT.  183 

after  day  he  still  kept  to  the  log-cabin, — wandering  only 
around  the  pasture  to  gather  herbs,  or  to  the  river,  for  a  fish 
to  broil  on  the  coals.  He  had  picked  up  a  large  pile  of 
wood,  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  contemplated  passing 
the  winter  in  the  cabin.  This  was  distressing  to  the  worthy 
family.  They  did  not  value  his  food  and  fuel  a  straw,  but 
were  apprehensive  that  he  would  suffer  in  that  cabin,  and 
perhaps  expire  there — and  then  what  would  the  world  say  ! 
They  apprised  the  select-men  of  his  situation — but  they  met 
with  no  better  success  in  persuading  him  to  remove.  It  was 
now  agreed  to  fit-up  the  old  cabin,  and  make  him  as  com 
fortable  as  possible  ;  and  when  this  was  done,  it  was  not  so 
bad  a  domicil.  The  boys  brought  him  candles,  cider,  and 
apples,  and  other  little  things,  which  he  seemed  to  enjoy 
with  great  relish.  This  was  remarkable — for  in  all  his 
peregrinations  he  would  live  on  bread  and  milk,  or  some 
vegetable  food  ;  not  tasting  of  meat,  but  now  he  was  fond 
of  solid  food,  and  every  day  gained  strength.  His  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears  of  gratitude  when  the  parents  of  the  children 
carne  to  see  him,  which  was  as  often  as  once  a  week, .  or 
oftener.  The  boys  used  to  amuse  their  Hermit  by  reading 
to  him  some  interesting  books  in  the  long  winter  evenings. 
He  was  particularly  fond  of  Indian  history,  and  made  some 
sage  remarks  on  the  Indian  character — often  vindicating 
them  when  history  had  condemned  them. 

As  a  new-year's  present,  the  boys  brought  him  a  new,  thick 
wrapper — a  very  timely  present.  In  a  happy  moment  he 
asked  the  boys  what  he  should  make  them — for  he  was  very 
ingenious  in  his  use  of  tools.  He  had  out  of  a  dry  oak 
plank  made  a  wooden  clock  for  his  cabin,  which  kept  very 
good  time  ;  and  had  quite  furnished  his  block-house,  as  he 
called  his  log  mansion.  The  boys  preferred  to  hear  the 
history  of  his  life,  to  any  other  favor.  This  surprised  him ; 


184  THE    HERMIT. 

but  he  said,  that  if  he  ever  could  get  firmness  enough  to  go 
through  the  story,  they  should  hear  it.  They  gently  urged 
him  at  times  to  commence  it,  and  he  seemed  less  reluctant 
each  time,  and  they  felt  quite  sure  that  he  would  indulge 
them  before  spring.  The  snow  lay  deep  and  pure  on  the 
pasture  and  woodlands  around  the  cabin,  and  the  moon  was 
riding  in  majesty  in  the  heavens,  and  the  boys  were  display 
ing  their  smattering  of  astronomy,  when  the  dogs  in  full  cry 
were  seen  chasing  a  fox,  which,  being  hard  pressed,  darted 
into  the  cabin.  One  of  the  boys  closed  the  door  against 
the  dogs.  When  the  Hermit  and  the  boys  entered,  the 
affrighted  fox  was  easily  taken.  It  was  debated  among 
them  what  they  should  do  with  the  trembling  captive.  The 
eldest  boy  said,  his  skin  was  worth  two  dollars,  and  they 
had  a  natural  right  to  him.  The  youngest  admitted  the 
right,  but  insisted  that  the  law  of  honor  and  benevolence 
was  of  a  higher  order — and,  as  he  had  sought  protection 
in  a  house  of  peace  and  friendship,  he  ought  to  have  the  be 
nefit  of  it.  Another  little  frolicsome  fellow  thought  the  feel 
ings  of  the  dogs  should  be  taken  into  consideration  ;  and  they 
had  their  rights  in  the  question — which  he  would  advocate 
for  them.  This  turned  the  whole  into  amusement.  The 
counsel  for  Lion  (the  dog)  only  asked  that  the  fox  should 
be  set  at  liberty,  and  have  a  minute's  start  of  the  dogs,  and 
then  neither  could  complain ;  but,  the  councils,  of  benevo 
lence  prevailed  over  those  of  interest  or  love  of  sport — and 
it  was  agreed  that  the  Hermit  should  let  him  go  when  the 
dogs  were  out  of  hearing.  The  boys  left  the  cabin,  and 
called  the  dogs  to  go  with  them.  Lion  bayed  the  moon  on 
his  way  to  his  kennel ;  but,  no  sooner  were  his.masters  safe 
in  the  house,  than  he  ran  to  the  cabin,  scented  the  fox,  and 
laid  down  close  to  the  logs,,  to  ,watch  for  an  opportunity  to 
catch  him.  Before  the  Hermit  retired  for  the  night,  he  opened 


THE    HERMIT.  185 

his  door  and  let  out  the  fox.  A  deep  cry  convinced  him 
that  the  great  dog  was  on  the  chase.  The  fox  made  for  the 
ice  of  the  river  ;  it  was  as  smooth  as  glass.  Here  he  had 
the  advantage  in  the  length  of  his  nails,  and  in  his  power, 
by  the  assistance  of  his  long,  bushy  tail,  in  tacking  and  in 
manoeuvring  to  escape.  The  old  man  was  rejoiced  to  find 
the  fox  gaining  on  the  dog.  Lion  did  not  return  until  late 
the  next  morning,  and  then  he  appeared  so  fatigued  and  mor 
tified,  that  it  was  evident  his  efforts  had  been  unsuccessful. 
Ever  after  that  period  the  dog  would  not  approach  the  cabin, 
and  would  growl  if  ever  the  Hermit  met  him  in  the  pasture. 
This  dislike  became  so  evident,  that  the  boys  were  obliged 
to  chastise  the  dog,  to  keep  him  from  committing  violence. 
The  old  man  requested  them  to  desist,  for  Lion  was  only 
acting  like  men  in  strength  and  power — hating  those  who  in 
any  way  thwarted  their  intentions. 

One  evening,  when  they  were  quite  happy  in  reading 
some  passages  in  ancient  history,  the  old  man  observed,  that 
on  the  next  week  would  be  his  birthday — and  then  when 
they  came  down  to  his  block-house,  he  would  commence 
the  account  of  his  life  ;  "  And  as  I  wish  to  make  it  useful  to 
you,"  said  he,  "  I  give  you  full  liberty  to  put  any  question 
to  me  you  please,  in  the  narration.  The  evening  came,  and 
the  boys  were  there  at  early  candle-light.  The  fire  was 
trimmed  and  the  lights  burning,  that  all  might  be  as  cheerful 
as  possible;  when  the  Hermit,  smoothing  his  venerable 
beard,  began  : — 

"  I  have  lived  for  many  years  in  hopes  to  have  died 
without  the  pain  of  recounting  the  incidents  of  my  life  ;  but, 
your  kindness  to  me  has  taken  off  some  of  that  disgust  which 
I  had  long  felt  for  all  mankind — and  you  have  won  my  pro 
mise  to  relate  them.  My  life  has  been  eventful,  but  humble. 
I  was  born  on  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  on  the  19th  of 


186  THE   HERMIT. 

April,  1725.  After  receiving  a  good  common-school  edu 
cation,  I  was  bound  apprentice  to  a  silversmith  :  but  he  was 
a  man  of  all-work ;  he  mended  clocks,  repaired  watches, 
and  when  the  alarm  of  war  was  abroad,  turned'  armorer, 
and  fixed  muskets  for  the  fight.  I  had  stipulated  to  serve 
him  until  I  was  twenty  years  of  age  only — with  the  intention 
of  going  to  a  more  skilful  workman  for  the  space  of  a  year 
before  I  set-up  for  myself;  but,  the  Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts  having  declared  war  against  the  French,  at 
Louisburg,  by  a  majority  of  only  one,  I  was  induced  to  go 
on  that  expedition  as  armorer.  There  were  about  3250 
men  from  Massachusetts,  516  from  Connecticut,  and  350 
from  New  Hampshire.  As  an  armorer  I  can  speak  of  the 
guns.  Some  of  them  were  Spanish,  taken  from  the  invin 
cible  armada  ;  some  of  them  from  the  French,  in  the  days 
of  Louis  XIV. ;  and  others  were  king's  arms,  discarded  from 
their  great  weight.  Scarcely  a  bayonet  among  them  all — 
and  no  ball  would  suit  any  two  muskets.  They  knew  no 
thing  of  military  tactics,  but  they  were  pious  and  fearless. 
Instead  of  drilling  themselves  for  battle,  they  held  conference, 
and  inspired  each  other  with  faith.  I  was  for  having  both. 
"  Colonel  Vaughan  was  a  most  gallant  officer  :  he,  with 
a  few  New  Hampshire  troops,  struck  the  first  blow.  He 
conducted  an  advance  column  through  the  woods,  within 
sight  of  Louisburg,  and,  during  the  night,  fired  several  large 
warehouses  of  naval  stores.  The  smoke,  driven  by  the 
wind  into  the  grand  battery,  threw  the  French  troops  into 
the  greatest  confusion,  and  they  at  once  abandoned  it.  The 
battery  deserted  by  the  French  troops,  was  taken  possession 
of  by  Vaughan,  and  he  sent  me  to  General  Pepperell  with 
a  short  note  written  on  a  gun.  The  troops  were  all  ani 
mation.  The  seige  of  Louisburg  lasted  forty-nine  days, 
when  the  city  was  surrendered  to  Pepperell  and  Warren. 


THE   HERMIT.  187 

The  officers  were  of  the  best  kind.  D  wight,  Gorham,  and 
Walcott,  from  Connecticut,  were  unceasing  in  their  endeavors 
to  bring  the  seige  to  a  close.  It  was  almost  a  miracle,  for 
a  vigorous  sally  would  have  closed  the  campaign  in  a  day. 
Some  future  time,  this  seige  will  be  memorable  in  our  mili 
tary  history ;  but  it  was  of  no  avail  to  the  country.  The  New 
England  troops,  who  performed  the  greatest  part  of  the  ser 
vice,  and  the  sailors,  who  were  in  the  several  colonial  sloops 
of  war,  were  not  allowed  a  part  of  the  prize-money,  which 
was  estimated  to  be  as  much  silver  as  fifty  ox-carts  could 
carry.  This  injustice  laid  the  foundation  of  our  independ 
ence.  The  British  governments  gave  the  Provincial  no 
credit  or  money.  The  murmurs  at  times  broke  into  curses. 
Great  Britain  had  been  cowering  in  her  fates  for  several 
years  before  this  victory.  In  this  expedition  there  were 
some  young  men  who  afterwards  figured  in  the  revolutionary 
war,  who  had  never  forgot  the  ill-treatment  they  received 
in  this  campaign.  I  shall  never  get  over  it  until  the  day  of 
my  death. 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  consternation  that  pervaded 
New  England  the  next  year,  when  the  Duke  D'Anville 
was  sent  by  the  French  on  our  coasts.  All  the  people  were 
alarmed.  I  marched  to  Boston,  with  others,  and  in  a  few 
days  there  were  6400  men  in  the  town — and  Connecticut 
was  ready  to  send  ten  thousand  more,  when  called  for. — 
God  destroyed  this  mighty  armada :  storms  and  pestilence 
first  assailed  them  ;  then  divisions  arose  among  the  officers 
of  the  French  fleet.  D'Anville  died  suddenly,  as  it  was 
believed,  by  poison,  administered  by  his  own  hand.  His 
successor  threw  himself  on  his  sword,  and  the  tempest  finish 
ed  the  naval  power,  without  the  firing  of  a  British  cannon. 
Thanks  were  given  to  God  in  every  church  in  New  Eng 
land  ;  but,  so  deep  and  strong  were  the  resentments  of  the 


188  THE    HERMIT. 

people,  that  no  prayer  was  put  up  for  the  British  ministry, 
and  in  some  pulpits  the  king's  name  was  not  mentioned. 
This  was  followed  by  the  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle — dis 
graceful  to  England  and  injurious  to  this  country.  Here, 
my  dear  children,  the  seeds  of  the  revolution  were  sown. 
Statesmen  and  historians  may  talk  of  navigation,  arts,  and 
other  remote  and  general  things,  as  the  causes  of  the  revo 
lution.  These  might  have  been  the  alledged  reasons  to 
justify  the  revolution,  but  the  more  immediate  causes  were 
in  personal  feeling. 

"  I  now  thought  I  should  never  serve  again  in  a  military 
capacity  ;  but,  when  forces  were  to  be  raised  in  1755,  I  was 
induced  to  accept  of  a  lieutenant's  commission  in  the  corps 
of  artificers — as  it  was  thought  the  campaign  would  be  short 
and  glorious.  I  went  to  Nova-Scotia  with  General  Wins- 
low,  I  have  suffered  much  in  camps  and  fights,  my  dear 
children,  but  it  was  all  nothing  to  the  [distress  I  felt  in  this 
campaign.  It  was  a  scene  of  cruelty  and  oppression  that 
no  American  had  ever  witnessed  before,  and,  I  trust  in 
heaven,  that  no  one  ever  will  again.  Although  years  have 
passed  away  since  that  day,  my  dreams  are  haunted  with 
visions  in  which  tears  of  wretchedness  flowed  without  our  good 
general's  being  able  to  soften  a  feature  of  misery.  Nova- 
Scotia  was  reduced  to  the  dominion  of  Britain,  but  the  situ 
ation  of  the  people,  their  language,  and  their  religion,  made 
them  objects  of  jealousy  to  the  British  government.  This 
race  of  colonists  were  of  a  most  interesting  character.  They 
were  pure  in  their  morals  and  warm  in  their  faith,  and  of 
the  most  industrious  habits.  They  lived  as  one  family,  and 
of  equal  condition,  with  great  simplicity  and  harmony. — 
There  was  the  seat  of  innocence  and  love.  There  were 
no  seducers,  no  usurers,  no  speculators.  They  required  no 
courts  or  judges  among  seven  thousand  inhabitants,  but  such 


THE    HERMIT.  189 

as  were  chosen  for  any  special  advice  among  themselves. 
It  is  said  that  Britain  treated  them  mildly ;  but  of  this  I  have 
no  proof.  Under  the  pretence  that  they  were,  or  from  fear 
that  they  might  be,  friendly  to  the  Canadians,  it  was  thought 
unsafe  for  them  to  remain  in  that  place  ;  and  it  was  deter 
mined  to  disperse  them  among  the  British  colonies.  This 
Would,  it  was  thought,  put  them  out  of  the  way  of  doing 
harm.  To  move  them  all  at  once,  a  stratagem  was  laid  to 
get  them  to  assemble  in  large  bodies  ;  and  then  they  were 
seized  by  force  and  taken  on  board  the  fleet.  Parents  were 
separated  from  their  children,  and  violently  transported  they 
knew  not  whither.  Some  were  taken  from  the  altar  of  God, 
while  on  their  bended  knees  before  the  Eternal  throne. 
While  they  were  huddled  together  by  the  bayonet,  their 
plantations  were  ravaged  and  their  houses  burnt,  to  deprive 
all  who  might  escape  from  shelter  and  protection.  Oh,  how 
"the  miseries  of  that  day  hang  upon  my  mind  !  The  troops 
under  Winslow  were  dissolved  in  tears,  to  hear  this  once 
happy,  but  now  wretched  people,  piercing  the  air  with  their 
lamentations.  About  a  thousand  of  them  came  to  Massachu 
setts,  but  there  they  could  not  worship  God  in  their  own  way. 
From  resentment,  or  from  hopes  of  succor  from  France, 
they  would  not  mingle  with  the  people  of  Massachusetts. 
They  lived  by  fishing  near  the  seaboard,  unwilling  to  be 
indebted  to  any  being  but  their  God,  for  subsistence.  They 
scorned  charity— and  many  of  them  died  by  protracted 
starvation.  Some  of  them  returned  to  France,  and  others 
to  Canada,  across  the  woods.  Ages  will  not  wipe  away 
this  stain  on  British  humanity.  Winslow  and  his  soldiers 
had  to  share  this  accursed  deed,  and  then  were  denied  any 
honors  of  the  campaign.  I  feel  this,  my  dear  children,  more 
than  any  mortal  living,  for  I  married,  on  this  occasion,  a 
beautiful  woman  I  found  in  despair — her  parents  being  sepa- 


190  THE    HERMIT. 

rated  from  her.  Compassion  was  my  inducement  :  'Pity 
me>ts  the  mind  to  love.'  She  was  descended  from  the 
French  noblesse — but  that  was  nothing  in  a  republican's  eye. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  affectionate  and  devoted  of  women. 
Oh,  God  !  all  that  was  mortal  of  her  is  within  ten  rods  of 
this  cabin  !  I  built  this  block-house.  You  wonder  :  I  will 
explain.  This  territory  was  not  then  free  from  Indian  war 
fare  ;  but,  at  this  time,  they  seldom  made  excursions  as  far 
down  as  this,  from  the  Canada  frontiers.  We  had  liberty 
to  fix  upon  our  bounty  lands,  taking  our  own  risk  of  being 
disturbed.  I  wandered  into  the  wilderness,  and,  from  the 
beauty  of  the  water  prospect,  and  the  richness  of  the  soil, 
fixed  upon  my  location.  I  brought  several  men  with  me 
to  commence  my  clearing — and  built  this  fortification  for  my 
residence.  I  had  promised  my  wife,  that  she  should  come 
and  see  it  as  soon  as  it  was  in  comfortable  order.  This 
promise  I  fulfilled,  and  brought  her  to  this  place,  here  1 
was  the  happiest  of  men.  I  had  a  sufficiency  of  food — was 
in  fine  health — and  nothing  annoyed  me, — for  solitude,  with 
such  a  wife,  was  my  delight.  I  heard,  as  a  common  sere 
nade,  the  howl  of  the  wolf,  as  he  prowled  around  my  dwel 
ling,  as  I  awaked  from  my  dreams ;  and  my  wife  was  not 
afraid  as  she  slept  on  my  arm.  I  can  dwell  on  this  picture 
no  longer.  She  caught  a  fever,  and  died.  I  buried  her 
in  a  coffin  made  of  several  thicknesses  of  birch  bark,  and 
she  reposes  on  the  south  side  of  that  large  rock,  where  you 
have  had,  for  several  years,  a  water-melon  bed  fenced  in. 
You  have  offered  me  your  fruit ;  I  have  never  touched  it, 
but  I  could  not  tell  you  the  reason  of  my  refusal.  I  thought 
her  grave  had  better  look  green,  than  dreary ;  but  I  could 
not  participate  in  your  fruits." 

"  Father,  nothing  shall  grow  there  hereafter  but  flowers," 
said  one  of  the  boys  ;  "  those  you  will  see,  without  feeling 
that  the  place  is  profaned." 


THE    HERMIT.  191 

*'  This  place  now  became  a  desert  to  me,"  said  the  Her 
mit,  "  and  I  abandoned  it,  and  never  returned  to  it  again, 
until  accident  brought  me  to  it,  when  you  found  me  here 
in  a  speechless  state,  and  1  was  brought  to  life  by  your 
kind  attentions.  Its  precise  situation  I  had  in  a  measure 
forgotten,  when  this  house,  erected  by  me  and  my  men,  after 
nearly  half  a  century  came  full  in  my  view.  The  pains  of 
memory  at  first  were  terrible — but  their  anguish  soon  was 
soothed,  and  a  calm  of  pleasing  melancholy  took  their  place. 
The  past  ages  peopled  by  my  imagination,  arose  before 
me,  and  T  felt  no  other  sin  to  answer  for  than  a  mis-spent 
time  ;  but  I  had  done  my  country  some  service,  and  had 
injured  no  one  but  myself.  The  spectres,  as  they  arose, 
seemed  to  smile  on  me,  and  not  a  frown  could  I  perceive 
among  them.  I  saw  among  my  groups  those  who  had 
fallen  in  the  arms  of  victory,  and  who  were  sleeping  on  the 
bed  of  glory  ;  others  who  had  been  known  to  me,  who  had 
passed  away  young,  and  were  remembered  for  their  loveli 
ness  only,  as  the  vernal  flowers.  Grave  statesmen  too  were 
in  the  crowd,  as  important  as  they  were  when  in  life,  perpe 
trating  some  political  error,  when  in  the  halls  of  legislation, 
perhaps,  under  the  impression  that  they  were  saving  a  na 
tion.  Heroes  and  statesmen  often  over-rate  their  deeds  done 
for  their  country. 

"  But,  to  resume  my  narrative.  I  was  not  on  the  fron 
tiers  when  Johnston  defeated  Duskau.  This  victory  afforded 
a  gleam  of  sunshine  through  the  land  ;  but  Johnson  was 
too  selfish  to  follow  up  his  success — and  the  victory  was 
not  of  much  avail. 

"  The  plan  of  a  campaign  was  the  next  year  (1756)  agreed 
upon  between  my  noble  commander,  General  Winslow,  and 
the  commander-in-chief  of  the  British  forces,  General  Aber. 
crombie ;  but,  on  the  arrival  of  the  Earl  of  Loudon — a 


192  THE    HERMIT, 

proud  imbecile — an  apology  for  a  general — who  never  could 
injure  his  enemies,  but  always  confounded  his  friends — the 
whole  was  abandoned.  The  next  year  Montcalrn.took  Fort 
William-Henry,  which  had  been  built  in  an  improper  place, 
for  it  could  be  easily  overlooked.  It  was  defended  by  brave 
men,  who  did  not  surrender  until  the  engineer,  Colonel  Mason, 
(a  New  Englander)  had  fired  the  last  shot  in  the  fort.  I 
have  had  the  whole  details  from  him.  I  cannot  trust  myself 
to  describe  to  you  the  massacre, — my  heart  was  then  so 
lacerated  by  the  loss  of  many  a  brave  companion  in  arms. 
For  this  account  you  must  go  to  the  books- — and,  as  the 
writers  knew  nothing  of  the  details,  they  have  given  it  to 
the  world  in  terms  too  general  to  leave  a  deep  sensation  of 
horror.  Montcalm  stood  high  among  the  most  chivalrous 
of  the  French  nobility — but  ages  will  not  wash  out  the 
accursed  spot  from  his  escutcheon.  While  this  defeat  and 
massacre  were  breaking  the  heart  of  the  colonists,  or  bra 
cing  them  to  deeds  of  revenge,  the  inane,  the  wretched, 
pompous  course  pursued  by  one  who  should  have  been  the 
protector  of  the  colonies,  (Lord  Loudon,)  produced  a  disgust 
not  less  heart-sickening.  His  conduct  brought  the  colonies 
to  the  eve  of  a  revolution,  which  would  in  all  probability 
have  taken  effect  if  he  had  not  been  superseded  by  General 
Abercrombie.  The  French  were  now  in  possession  of  the 
lakes.  Abercrombie  had  better  manners  than  Loudon,  but 
not  any  more  abilities.  On  taking  the  command  of  the 
army,  he  found  it  was  the  largest  force  ever  assembled  in 
America ;  consisting  of  fifty  thousand  men,  of  whom  twenty- 
two  thousand  were  regular  troops,  a  part  of  which  was 
under  Amherst  and  Wolfe — officers  of  talents  and  bravery,, 
This  year,  blood  and  treasure  were  again  expended  to  take 
Louisburg,  which  had  been  so  readily  given  up  by  treaty. 
I  was  with  the  army  on  Lake  George  this  season — an  officer 


THE    HERMIT.  193 

of  artificers,  of  which,  my  children,  your  honored  maternal 
grandsire  was  major.  When  the  ice  broke  up  on  Lake 
George,  General  Abercrombie  sent  for  several  of  our  corps, 
with  some  of  the  regular  army,  and  enquired  of  us  how 
many  boats  it  would  require  to  convey  the  army  down  the 
lake.  There  was  but  little  difference  of  opinion  as  it  re 
garded  the  number  of  boats  ;  but  a  great  difference  as  to 
the  time  it  would  take  to  build  them.  The  British  thought 
the  boats  might  be  got  ready  by  the  middle  of  September. 
We  gave  it  as  our  opinion  that  all  might  be  in  readiness  by 
the  first  day  of  August.  We  stipulated  to  do  this,  if  our 
plan  was  followed.  We  knew  the  facilities  we  had,  and  the 
power  and  strength  of  the  colonial  troops: — all  acquainted 
with  the  axe,  the  auger,  the  forge,  and  the  saw.  With  cer 
tain  modifications,  Abercrombie  agreed  to  our  requisitions — 
and  we  sat  about  the  herculean  task.  The  general  thought 
it  could  not  be  done  in  the  given  time,  as  he  could  not  see 
the  progress — for  every  piece  of  timber  was  prepared  in  the 
mountains,  by  model.  They  were  brought  in  pieces  to  the 
margin  of  the  lake,  and  were  put  together  as  it  were  by 
magic.  On  the  first  day  of  July,  1758,  this  immense  fleet, 
consisting  of  nine  hundred  batteaux  and  twenty-five  whole 
boats,  and  some  small  wherries  as  attendants  on  the  bat 
teaux,  were  riding,  light  as  egg-shells,  upon  the  pure  waters 
of  the  south  end  of  Lake  George.  It  was  a  magnificent 
sight,  and  excited  the  admiration  of  the  whole  army.  The 
fleet  was  under  the  care  of  the  artificers  until  all  the  boats 
had  been  inspected  and  approved,  which  was  finished  on  the 
fourth,  and  the  troops  embarked  on  the  fifth.  The  high 
mountains  hanging  over  the  eastern  side  of  the  lake,  pre 
vents  the  sun  from  being  seen  several  hours  after  it  has  arisen. 
An  illumined  mist  arises  from  the  lake,  making  a  beautiful 
contrast  with  the  dark  waters  beneath.  The  rowers  were. 


194  THE    HERMIT* 

all  on  their  benches,  and  at  six  in  the  morning  the  oars  dip 
ped  at  the  tap  of  the  drum — when  the  bands  of  music  struck 
up  «  God  Save  the  King,'  accompanied  by  sixteen  thousand 
voices,  whose  echoes  rang  among  the  mountains,  and  returned 
to  greet  the  armament.  The  length  of  the  lake  is  about 
thirty -two  miles — a  fair  day's  pull.  We  anchored  in  a  cave 
on  the  western  side  of  the  lower  end  of  the  lake,  not  far  from 
the  place  where  it  devolved  in  a  pure,  foaming,  dashing, 
current,  into  Lake  Champlain. 

"  On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  we  landed,  and  formed  for 
battle — the  provincials  forming  the  flanks,  and  the  regulars, 
under  Lord  Howe,  the  centre.  As  they  marched  onward, 
to  clear  the  woods  of  French  and  Indians,  Lord  Howe  was 
killed.  The  Indians  set  up  one  of  their  fiendish  yells,  which 
made  the  British,  who  were  not  accustomed  to  such  horrid 
sounds,  break  into  a  general  panic ;  but  the  provincials  on 
the  flanks,  by  their  mode  of  fighting,  soon  gained  a  victory. 
Lord  Howe's  death  was  a  subject  of  general  lamentation. 
It  was  uttered  in  low,  mournful  whispers,  « The  sword  arm 
of  our  forces  is  cut  off* — and  the  head  is  nothing  !'  On  the 
seventh,  our  army  took  possession  of  a  post  near  Ticonde- 
roga.  On  the  eighth,  an  assault  was  made  on  the  fort,  of 
the  most  imprudent  kind,  by  order  of  Abercrombie ;  and 
two  thousand  men  were  killed  and  wounded,  who  felt  unable 
to  do  their  foes  any  considerable  harm.  Abercrombie  was 
dismayed,  and  ordered  a  retreat  to  the  southern  part  of  the 
lake,  from  whence  he  came.  Such  confusion  as  we  saw, 
can  hardly  be  credited.  Burying  the  slain — dressing  the 
wounded,  and  conveying  them  on  board  the  batteaux — was 
a  most  melancholy  sight.  We  were  then  fourteen  thousand 
strong  ;  and,  by  regular  seige,  could  have  taken  the  unfin 
ished  fort  in  a  very  short  time.  The  provincials  could  have 
accomplished  it  alone,  if  they  had  been  permitted  to  have 


THE    HERMIT.  195 

remained  for  that  service.  On  our  return,  we  could  hardly 
look  each  other  in  the  face,  from  mortification.  The  eagle 
of  the  mountains  had  scented  the  blood  which  had  been  so 
prodigally  shed,  and  poised  over  us  as  we  slowly  ascended 
the  lake — performing  the  part  of  the  vulture,  who  follows 
the  slaughter,  rather  than  that  of  the  bird  of  Jove,  who  leads 
to  victory. 

"  Soon  after  this,  some  gleams  of  success  awaited  the  Brit 
ish  arms,  in  the  taking  of  Oswego,  and  the  reduction  of  Fort 
Du  Quesne.  The  Indians  (always  uncertain  as  allies,  but 
ferocious  as  enemies)  now  began  to  lose  their  faith  in  the 
French,  who  were  always  more  civil  than  generous  to  their 
Iridian  friends — and  formed  treaties  with  the  English,  which 
broke  up  the  French  power  from  the  western  lakes  to 
Louisiana. 

"  My  health  was  in  some  measure  impaired  by  great 
exertions,  and  I  had  leave  to  stay  at  home  in  the  campaign 
of  1759.  This  was  a  successful  one.  General  Amherst 
took  Ticonderoga  and  Crown  Point,  without  much  loss  of 
blood.  It  is  but  proper  that  I  should  mention  Sir  William 
Johnson's  conduct  in  taking  the  garrison  of  Niagara — which 
bound  a  more  lasting  laurel  on  his  brow,  than  he  won  in  his 
victory  in  1755.  Johnson  undoubtedly  was  a  man  of  power 
ful  mind,  but  was  not  overstocked  with  modesty,  delicacy, 
or  a  sense  of  justice. 

"Late  this  season  was  fought  the  battle  on  the  heights  of 
Abraham,  which  resulted  in  the  surrender  of  Quebec.  This 
battle  is  so  memorable  in  American  history,  and  was  so  im 
portant  in  its  consequences,  that  it  should  be  studied  by  you, 
my  children,  with  great  attention.  I  never  describe  a  fight, 
unless  I  was  in  it.  I  shall  only  say,  that  Wolfe  was  a  popu 
lar  general — younger  than  most  of  his  army.  He  was  elected 
by  Chatham,  from  a  slight  personal  acquaintance — but  suffi. 
cient  for  that  great  reader  of  men  to  see  in  him  the  elements. 


196  THE    HERMIT. 

of  a  consummate  general.  The  generals  next  in  command 
to  Wolfe — Townsend  and  Murray — were  also  young-,  intel 
lectual,  brave,  and  full  of  experiments.  The  plan  was  a 
bold  one,  and  the  difficulties  of  execution  discouraging  to 
ordinary  minds ;  but  Wolfe  and  his  generals  knew  how  to 
separate  the  difficult  from  the  impossible.  In  floating  down 
the  river  St.  Lawrence,  just  previous  to  the  battle,  the  pen 
sive  soul  of  Wolfe,  without  any  thing  which  might  be  called 
ordinary  fear,  in  a  melancholy  presentment  of  his  fate,  it  is 
said,  sung  the  song  of  the  Earl  of  Peterborough,  composed 
in  an  age  before  his  time  :  beginning — 

'  Why,  soldiers — why 
Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys  T 
Our  business  is  to  die  !' 

This  is  not  true.  Wolfe  had  a  mind  of  a  solemn  cast,  with 
out  a  particle  of  that  cup-jovial  soldier-buoyancy  that  dis 
tinguished  Peterborough.  Wolfe  did  not  sing — but  repeated 
a  sentimental  piece  of  poetry  :  it  was  ever  too  deep  and  feel 
ing  to  be  sung — Gray's  « Elegy  in  a  Country  Church-yard^ 
This  great  production  had  just  been  sent  him  from  London, 
by  the  latest  packet.  When  he  had  finished  his  recitation, 
he  looked  around  him,  and,  seeing  the  effect  it  had  made, 
he  said,  in  a  still  more  suppressed  tone,  '  Now,  gentlemen, 
I  would  rather  be  the  author  of  that  poem,  than  take  Quebec.' 
What  a  tribute  to  poetical  genius ! — for  it  too  often  happens 
that  the  mere  soldier  has  no  sympathy  for  the  poet,  or  has 
no  other  sympathy  for  him  than  that  which  arises  from  a 
distant  possibility  that  the  poet  may  assist  in  perpetuating  the 
deeds  of  glory  that  the  soldier  has  achieved. 

"  Wolfe  died  in  the  arms  of  victory.  Montcalm  followed 
soon  after — and  Quebec  surrendered.  This  was  an  impor 
tant  era  in  the  history  of  North  America ;  but  its  beneficial 
effects  were  not  fully  realized  until  the  peace  of  1763.  By 
this  treaty,  Canada  was  ceded  to  England ;  and  the  border 


THE    HERMIT.  197 

wars — which  were  of  the  most  distressing  kind — ceased. 
Then  the  frontier  wilderness  began  to  be  settled  by  a  hardy 
and  enterprising  body  of  men,  who  had  been  waiting  for  this 
event,  to  venture  into  the  woods.  No  molestation  was  after 
wards  offered  to  the  thinly -scattered  inhabitants  of  the  new 
towns.  The  town  in  which  we  now  live  was  rapidly  settled 
after  this  period,  and  the  old  men  you  saw  at  March  meet 
ing  were  the  pioneers.  Many  of  them  are  much  my  junior 
in  years.  A  hardier,  or  more  honest  race,  never  were  patri 
archs  of  any  land  :  their  descendants  may  know  more,  but 
will  not  be  more  virtuous. 

"  From  this  period  until  the  commencement  of  the  revolu 
tionary  war,  1  was  engaged  in  farming,  and  in  bridge  and 
house  architecture ;  and  had  been  on  to  Philadelphia,  to 
plan  a  public  edifice ;  and  was  on  my  return,  when,  having 
spent  the  night  at  Lynn,  on  the  way,  I,  with  others,  was  in 
the  morning  informed,  that,  the  night  previous,  a  large  body 
of  British  troops  had  marched  from  Boston  towards  Concord. 
The  musketry  had  been  distinctly  heard  between  day  and 
sunrise.  The  neighboring  towns  flew  to  arms.  It  was  a 
memorable  day — for  I  was  that  day  fifty  years  of  age.  As 
I  passed  through  Woburn,  on  my  track  to  meet  the  foe,  I 
found  John  Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams,  who  had  passed 
the  previous  night  at  the  house  of  the  clergyman  of  that 
town.  Hancock  was  then  in  readiness  to  mount  his  horse 
for  the  scene  of  action.  He  wore  a  dress  sword,  and  was 
armed  with  a  pair  of  pistols.  Adams,  the  clergyman,  Mrs 
Hancock,  and  several  others,  were  attempting  to  dissuade 
him  from  such  a  rash  enterprize.  When  I  saw  his  situa 
tion,  I  joined  those  who  were  attempting  to  prevent  his  depar 
ture.  «  And  do  you,  Captain  Brainard,  an  old  soldier,'  said 
he,  'unite  yourself  to  these  women  also?'  'Your  life  is  too 
valuable,'  was  the  reply,  '  to  risk  in  a  hasty  enterprize  like 
this.  Stay  here  :  I  will  go  on  to  the  ground,  and  send  you 


198  THE    HERMIT. 

tidings  of  the  battle.  The  provincials  have  the  game  in 
their  hands :  there  can  be  no  fear  from  the  foe ;  they  will 
find  it  difficult,  however  large  their  forces,  to  retreat  without 
loss.'  With  great  difficulty  we  persuaded  Hancock  to  stay 
in  Woburn.  I  returned  to  his  lodgings  about  eight  o'clock 
thut  evening,  and  gave  him  all  the  details  I  could  collect. 
I  saw  Warren  in  the  fight,  and  gave  him  assurance  that 
Hancock  and  Adams  were  safe. 

"  At  this  event,  one  burst  of  patriotic  feeling  was  poured 
from  every  heart.  Every  woman  was  a  heroine,  and  every 
man  was  ready  to  be  immolated  on  the  altar  of  his  country. 
As  I  returned  homeward,  groups  of  men  would  meet  me  at 
every  public  place,  to  make  enquiries  relative  to  the  bloody 
scene;  and,  before  I  was  half  through  my  story,  women  and 
children  ran  to  catch  the  news,  and  caught  the  infection  of 
resentment.  On  my  return,  I  enlisted  a  few  soldiers,  and 
marched  with  them  for  Cambridge,  where  the  patriots  as- 
sembled  by  instruction. 

"  I  was  at  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  This  action  taught 
the  foes  that  they  must  remove  the  seat  of  war  from  the  iron- 
bound  coast,  and  from  the  home  of  these  iron-sinewed  men. 

"The  campaign  of  seventy-six  I  can  never  think  of  with 
out  tears  of  shame.  Our  army  of  New  York  was  large, 
but  undisciplined,  and  ill-sorted,  and  br.aly  supplied  with 
artillery  or  munitions  of  war.  Most  of  the  officers  were 
unacquainted  with  each  other,  and  were  ignorant  of  battles. 
The  troops  they  had  to  contend  with  were  numerous  and 
well  appointed.  The  shock  was  great,  but  might  have  been 
foreseen.  The  great  mass  of  the  people  supposed  that  the 
enemy  would  be  driven  from  our  shores  in  a  short  time  ; 
but  the  wise  knew  better.  The  indignation  excited  by  the 
treatment  of  prisoners,  gave  new  energy  to  the  people  in 
carrying  on  the  war.  From  the  Provost  prison  and  Jersey 
prison  ship  were  wafted  the  moans  of  thousands,  which  inspired 


THE    HERMIT.  199 

with  a  desperate  fury  the  kindred  of  those  who  suffered.  In 
five  months  after  the  declaration  of  independence,  there  were 
but  few  who  dared  to  allude  to  it. 

"  While  these  dark  clouds  hung  over  us  in  the  fall  of  1776, 
patriots  who  now  boast  of  having  never  quailed,  were 
whispering  with  each  other  on  the  best  method  of  making 
their  peace  with  the  mother  country.  I  can  name  them, 
and  may,  before  I  die.  In  this  awful  crisis,  the  battles  of 
Trenton  and  Princeton  threw  cheering  rays  of  light  on  a 
despairing  nation — and  she  arose,  with  renewed  vigor,  to 
arms.  It  proved  to  the  world,  that  our  Chief,  who  had  been 
guided  by  the  wisdom  of  Fabius,  could  launch,  like  the 
Scipios,  the  thunderbolts  of  war,  when  the  propitious  hour  had 
come.  At  Monmouth,  we  lost  nothing ;  at  Saratoga,  we 
settled  the  question  of  independence.  Some  other  time  must 
be  taken  to  give  you  ail  the  circumstances  of  this  glorious 
victory,  and  of  those  which  followed,  till  our  rank  among 
the  nations  of  the  earth  was  settled  and  acknowledged. 

"  Soon  after  the  peace,  I  had  a  fever,  which  left  my  senses 
in  a  bewildered  state — and  I  have  roamed  many  years  from 
among  men  :  during  which  time  I  have  examined  every  part 
of  our  country,  or  what  then  constituted  my  country  ;  and 
I  will  state  to  you  one  fact,  which  you  may  think  singular  : 
that  is — every  thing  which  transpired  during  this  pericd, 
is  as  fully  impressed  on  my  memory,  as  those  things  which 
I  saw  arid  heard  in  my  happiest  days,  if  at  that  time  my 
reasonings  upon  subjects  were  not  sound.  It  was  not  until 
after  I  had  reached  this  cabin,  (built  by  me,)  and  enjoyed 
some  repose,  and  experienced  some  kind  treatment,  that  my 
mind  resumed  its  regularity  and  health. 

"  I  will  now  venture,  young  gentlemen,  to  ask  you,  who 
is  now  my  guardian  ?" 

The  lads  were  happy  to  say — "  Our  father.  The  Judge 
of  Probate  removed  the  previous  guardian,  for  mal-conduct, 


200  THE    HERMIT. 

and  urged  our  father  to  accept  the  trust.  He  did  it  by  our 
entreaty — and  we  urged  him,  because  we  did  not  intend  that 
any  capricious  wretch,  « dressed  in  a  little  brief  authority,' 
should  take  you  from  our  care.  Our  father  told  the  judge, 
that  he  thought  you  were  perfectly  sane,  and  had  been  so 
for  a  long  time." 

"  It  will  not  do  to  judge  too  hastily  upon  that  subject," 
said  the  Hermit.  "  Look  at  that  journal  of  all  my  wander 
ings  for  many  years.  It  is  a  description  of  many  portions  of 
my  travels  :  you  will  find  nothing  of  insanity  there  ;  it  was 
only  at  happy  intervals  I  ventured  to  take  up  my  pen." 

The  lads  gave  their  father  a  full  account  of  their  inter* 
view  with  the  Hermit — and  he  visited  the  old  sage  the  next 
morning.  Arrangements  were  made  by  which  he  was  to 
leave  the  block-house,  and  come  and  live  with  the  family. 
In  a  few  hours  the  Hermit's  flowing  locks  of  silver  fell 
under  the  barber's  scissors,  and  his  wizard  beard  disappeared 
by  the  magic  of  the  razor.  The  tailor  was  set  to  work — 
and  the  wrapper  and  the  girdle  were  not ;  and  the  sem 
blance  of  the  hermit  was  lost  in  the  dignified  appearance  of 
the  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  His  noble  height — his  mili 
tary  movements — his  sage  and  measured  voice,  and  subdued 
and  bland  manners,— ^-made  him  arise  at  once  a  patriarch 
acquainted  with  the  courtesies  of  the  world.  Master  of  his 
time  and  his  actions,  he  enjoyed  life,  as  it  were,  upon  a  fresh 
lease,  and  made  himself  useful  to  mankind.  I  knew  one 
who  was  acquainted  with  the  sage,  and  who  had  listened  to 
his  lessons  of  wisdom,  frequently  declare,  that  an  axiom  from 
his  lips  made  more  impression  on  his  mind,  than  a  hundred 
on  the  learned  page.  No  man  was  ever  properly  educated 
who  had  not  conversed  with  the  aged  and  the  wise. 

"  Is  there  a  man  for  wisdom  eminent? 
Seek  him  then  betimes  ;  he  will  not  shun  thee, 
Tho7  thy  frequent  foot  wear  out  the  pavement 
At  his  door."——— 


THE    PHILANTHROPIST 


AND 


THE   MISER. 


"1  returned,  and  saw  under  the  sun,  that  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor 
the  battle  to  the  strong  ;  neither  yet  bread  to  the  wise,  nor  yet  riches  to  men  of 
understanding,  nor  yet  favor  to  men  of  skill :  but  time  and  chance  happeuetL 
to  them  all." — Solomon. 


'  Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady  rows  ? 
Whose  seats,  the  weary  traveller  repose  ? 
Who  taught  that  heav'n-directed  spire  to  rise  ? — 
'  The  Man  of  Ross/  each  lisping  babe  replies-. 

*•***## 

Hiui  portion'd  maids — apprentic'd  orphans  blest— 
The  young  who  labor,  and  the  old  who  rest."  Pope. 


'  Old  as  he  was,  no  vulgar  known  disease 
On  him  could  ever  boast  a  power  to  seize  ; 
But,  as  he  weigh'd  his  gold,  grim  Death,  in  spite, 
Cast  in  his  dart — which  made  three  moidnre's  light ; 
And,  as  he  saw  his  darling  money  fail, 
Blew  his  last  breath,  to  sink  the  fighter  scale."  Swift. 


IN  a  tavern,  on  a  rainy  day,  I  asked  the  inn-holder  for 
some  old  book,  for  I  saw  nothing  on  the  table  but  some  poli 
tical  pamphlets — which  are  generally  an  abomination  to  me^ 
He  went  to  a  closet,  and  brought  me  several  volumes  of  a 
newspaper,  printed  more  than  fifty  years  ago,  (previous  to 
the  revolutionary  war.)  The  volumes  were  a  treat :  a  part 
of  the  pages  were  filled  with  sage  discussions  of  the  rights 
of  man  in  general,  and  the  rights  of  the  colonies,  in  regard 

R 


202  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

to  personal  and  political  liberty  ;  and  not  a  few  of  the  argu 
ments  were  managed  with  skill  and  ability.  The  British 
ministry  were  severely  handled,  and  their  right  course 
marked  out.  Passing  from  their  sage  observations,  1  glanced 
at  the  marriages  and  deaths,  and  smiled  to  see  those  called 
beautiful  and  young,  having  then  just  left  the  hymeneal  altar, 
whom  I  had  a  few  days  before  seen  in  age  and  decrepitude. 
I  saw  the  obituary  notice  of  many  that  I  had  ney^r  known, 
had  existed,  although  in  the  neighborhood  of  my  own  birth 
place.  From  the  records,  I  could  trace  connexions  I  had 
never  before  knew  of — and  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  the  race 
that  'had  departed  before  my  time,  in  my  contemporaries. 
The  advertisements  gave  me  an  insight  into  the  business 
carried  on  a  half  century  and  more  ago.  I  could  from  these 
documents  trace  the  rise  and  progress  of  commerce,  and 
learn  who  had  risen  and  who  fallen  in  the  pursuit  of  gain. 
My  eye  fell  on  an  advertisement  offering — 

For  Sale — A  large  quantity  of  Havana  sugars,  now 
landing  at  Roberts'  Wharf,  from  the  brig  General  Wolfe. 
Terms  of  sale  to  be  known  at  Store  No.  15  on  said  wharf. 

Odder  1769.  WM"  STOCKTON- 

N.B.  Brought  from  Havana,  a  box  of  Cigars — a  very 
rare  article  :  the  best  of  tobacco  rolled  up  to  the  size  of  a 
small  finger,  and  of  about  five  inches  in  length — for  smoking. 
They  are  preferred  by  the  Spanish  Dons  to  the  pipe.  Those 
who  wish  to  enjoy  such  a  luxury,  will  please  call  and  try 
them. 

On  the  same  page  of  the  paper,  was  the  following  adver 
tisement  : — 

The  subscriber  has  just  received  at  his  shop,   bottom  of 
Dove  Lane,  a  supply  of  Apples  and  Chesnuts  from  the  coun- 
ry.     He  has  also  on  hand,  a  few  Geese-yokes  and  Mouse- 
raps.         Skates  faithfully  strapped. 

October  1769.  IcnABOD  GARDINER. 


AND    THE    MISER.  203 

Over  these  advertisements  I  pondered  long.  I  had  been 
acquainted  with  both  of  these  men  for  the  last  twenty  years 
of  their  lives.  When  my  acquaintance  commenced  with 
Stockton,  he  was  an  active  merchant,  and  one  of  the  most 
liberal  of  men.  I  had  studied  his  character,  for  I  loved  the 
man.  When  this  advertisement  was  dated,  he  had  just  taken 
his  father's  business.  He  was  engaged  largely  in  the  West- 
India  and  Bilboa  trade,  and  was  in  quite  a  prosperous  con 
dition,  and  which  continued  so  until  the  breaking  out  of  the 
revolutionary  war — when  an  end  was  put  to  all  regular 
commerce  with  our  merchants.  On  the  news  of  the  battle 
of  Lexington,  Mr.  Stockton  put  a  small  cargo  into  a  fast- 
sailing  schooner,  and  went  on  board  of  her  himself,  and  sailed 
for  the  West-Indies  for  a  cargo  of  powder  and  other  muni 
tions  of  war.  The  Dutch  made  no  scruple  of  selling  him 
these  articles,  and  he  returned  home  in  season  to  supply  the 
expedition  through  the  woods  to  Canada,  with  powder  and 
ball,  and  some  fire-arms.  These  articles — amounting  to 
eight  thousand  dollars — the  government  purchased  on  a 
credit,  payable  in  Spanish  dollars;  but,  when  the  notes  be 
came  due,  he  was  obliged  to  take  continental  paper  money, 
for  which  he  never  realized  anything,  and  which  may  pro 
bably  be  seen  now  in  a  pile  in  the  garret  of  the  house  he 
then  occupied  ;  it  was  there  a  few  years  ago.  He  thought 
this  hard,  but  he  did  not  complain.  When  government 
wanted  more  credit,  they  had  it.  He  met  with  vicissitudes 
during  the  conflict,  but  came  out  of  it  a  man  of  wealth.  He 
suffered  with  the  rest  in  the  tobacco  trade,  in  1784-5,  but 
rode  the  storm  which  shipwrecked  so  many  American  mer 
chants.  At  this  period,  decayed  institutions  were  to  be  built 
up  again,  and  new  ones  to  be  founded.  In  this,  Mr.  Stock 
ton  was  always  foremost — giving  his  time,  and  devoting  his 
talents  and  his  purse,  in  aid  of  every  public  plan  for  the 


204  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

benefit  of  the  nation.  He  was  at  the  head  of  insurance 
offices,  marine  societies,  and  retreats  for  disabled  seamen, 
and  all  institutions  of  a  kindred  nature.  If  one  was  unfor 
tunate  by  flood,  or  fire,  or  sickness,  William  Stockton  was 
found  foremost  among  those  who  come  forward  for  his  assis 
tance.  He  was  at  the  head  of  all  internal  improvements, 
and  had  a  good  forecast  in  regard  to  this  great  branch  of 
national  prosperity.  He  struggled  hard  in  establishing  a 
general  constitution  of  government,  as  he  saw  that  was  the 
only  ark  of  safety.  He  was  not  only  a  liberal  patriot,  who 
spared  nothing  for  his' country,  but  he  was  benevolent  in  all 
the  little  currents  of  social  life.  Ho  took  the  young  mer 
chant  by  the  hand,  and  assisted  him  to  business,  and  was 
his  friend  in  adversity,  if  he-was  convinced  of  the  integrity 
of  his  conduct.  He  was  a  patron  of  schools,  and  a  liberal 
supporter  of  letters  in  every  way.  In  the  social  circle,  he 
lost  the  man  of  business,  to  resume  his  exertions  with  new 
spirit,  when  the  hour  of  relaxation  had  passed.  Such  was 
the  mildness  of  his  manners,  and  his  affectionate  address, 
that  young  men  often  made  him  their  father  confessor,  when 
they  dared  not  make  a  confidant  of  their  own  connexions ; 
and  this  confidence  was  always  met  with  good  advice,  or 
pecuniary  assistance  if  wanted.  An  instance  of  this  may 
be  given  in  a  few  words: — One  of  his  neighbor's  sons  was 
taken  sick,  and  the  physician  was  unable  to  find  a  cause 
for  the  nervous  delirium  of  his  patient.  The  young  man 
requested  to  see  Mr.  Stockton,  who  came  and  had  a  private 
interview  with  him.  A  few  minutes  after  the  Man  of  Ross 
had  gone,  the  young  gentleman  got  up,  and  walked  out — 
weak,  but  entirely  free  from  all  disease  or  delirium.  The 
cure  was  thought  to  be  miraculous  :  no  one  knew  the  secret 
for  years — not  until  the  person  restored  told  the  story  him 
self.  The  son  had  taken  a  sum  of  money  from  his  father, 


AND    THE    MISER.  205 

which  he  could  not,  as  he  expected  to  do,  replace  ;  and  he 
knew  that  his  father  would  soon  find  it  out.  As  the  last 
resort,  he  had  prepared  to  shoot  himself.  The  pistol  was 
loaded  and  piimed,  and  the  sufferer  was  bracing  himself  up 
for  the  unhallowed  deed,  when  the  thought  struck  him  that 
he  would  take  one  more  look  at  the  picture  of  his  mother ; 
but  on  entering  the  chamber  where  it  had  hung  for  years, 
it  was  not  there — his  sister  had  taken  it  to  have  a  copy  of 
it  made.  He  felt  the  disappointment  severely,  and  said  to 
himself,  as  he  returned  to  his  own  room,  "  Perhaps  her 
sweet  smile  might  have  dissuaded  me  from  the  dreadful 
deed.  The  thought  now  struck  him  that  he  would  have  one 
more  gaze  on  earth  and  heaven ;  and  for  this  purpose  he 
threw  up  the  window,  and  the  first  object  that  caught  his 
eye  was  Mr.  Stockton,  walking  in  a  contemplative  mood 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  A  beam  of  light  now  spread 
over  the  gloomy  soul  of  him  who  had  decreed  to  die  by  his 
own  hand.  All  his  horrors  fled  the  instant  he  came  to  the 
determination  to  make  Mr.  Stockton  his  confidant. 

An  interview  was  had,  and  the  sum  of  money  was  ad 
vanced — the  profoundest  secrecy  preserved.  The  young 
gentleman  has  since  been  prosperous,  and  owes  no  debt  of 
gratitude  to  the  family  of  his  friend,  who  saved  him  at  that 
perilous  hour,  that  he  is  not  daily  struggling  to  pay. 

Twice  a-year  Mr.  Stockton  made  a  general  jail  delivery 
of  all  confined  for  small  debts.  He  assisted  the  oppressed 
against  the  oppressor,  however  powerful  the  latter  might  be. 
His  name  was  a  terror  to  the  usurer  and  extortioner.  As 
a  member  of  the  legislature,  he  was  in  constant  exertion  to 
soften  the  hard  features  of  the  common  and  statute  law.  It 
was  in  his  time  that  those  disgusting  relicts  of  a  barbarous 
age — the  whipping-post,  the  pillory,  the  stocks,  arid  the  cat- 
o'- nine-tails — were  driven  from  civilized  man,  and  all  unna- 

R2 


206  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

tural  punishments  abolished.  He  never  listened  to  a  tale  of 
slander,  for 

"  He  abhorr'd  the  insidious  lie — 
The  low  deceit — the  unmanly  calumny." 

He  believed,  and  inculcated  the  doctrine,  that  a  trespass 
upon  reputation  was  as  criminal  as  one  on  property.  Envy 
sometimes  looked  with  all  her  eyes,  to  find  some  defect  in 
this  good  man;  and  if  an  imaginary  one  was  discovered, 
the  public  voice  instantly  put  it  down  :  the  people  would  not 
for  a  moment  believe  that  his  character  had  a  blemish 
in  it.  One  instance  would  serve  to  show  the  hold  he 
had  on  the  affections  of  the  public.  Ogilvie,  the  Scotch 
Orator,  who  gave  orations  and  recitations  in  different  parts 
of  our  country,  was  declaiming  in  the  town  in  which  Mr. 
Stockton  resided.  Before  a  fuJI  audience,  he  happened  to 
select  Darwin's  beautiful  tribute  to  Howard  the  philanthro 
pist  :  it  was  received  with  great  applause,  and  during  the 
delivery,  every  eye  was  turned  on  Stockton — the  eulogy 
was  his.  If  in  the  character  of  Howard  the  outlines  were 
b>roader  than  in  that  of  Stockton,  in  the  latter  the  finishings 
were  more  delicate — but  the  picture  answered  for  both. 

And  now,  Philanthropy!  thy  rays  divine 
Dart  round  the  globe,  from  Zemblu  to  the  Line: 
O'er  each  dark  prison  plays  the  cheering  light, 
Like  northern, lustres  o'er  the  vault  of  night. 
From  realm  to  realm,  with  cross  or  crescent  crown'd, 
Where'er  mankind  and  misery  are  found  — 
O'er  burning  sands,  deep  waves,  or  wilds  of  snow, 
Thy  HOWARD,  journeying,  seeks  the  house  of  woe. 
Down  many  a  winding  step,  to  dungeons  dank, 
Where  anguish  wail?  aloud,  arid  fetters  clank — 
To  caves  bestrew'd  with  many  a  mouldering  bone, 
Arid  cells  whose  echoes  only  learn  to  groan — 
Where  no  kind  bars  a  whispering  friend  disclose- 
No  sunbeam  enters,  and  no  zephyr  blows — 
He  treads,  inenuilons  of  fame  or  wea'th, 
Profuse  of  toil,  and  prodigal  of  health  ; 
With  soft,  assuasive  eloquence,  expands 
Power's  rigid  heart,  and  opes  his  clenching  hands ; 


AND    THE    MISER.  207 

Leads  stern-eyed  Justice  to  the  dark  domains, 
If  not  to  sever,  to  relax  the  chains; 
Or  guides  awaken'd  mercy  through  the  gloom, 
And  shows  the  prison,  sister  to  the  tomb; 
Gives  to  her  babes  the  self-devoted  wife — 
To  her  fond  husband,  liberty  and  life! 
The  spirits  of  the  good,  who  bend  from  high, 
Wide  o'er  these  earthly  scenes,  their  partial  eye, 
When  fi  st,  array'd  in  VIRTUE'S  purest  robe, 
They  saw  her  HOWARD  traversing  the  globe  ; 
Saw  round  his  brow  her  sun-like  glory  blaze, 
In  arrowy  circles  of  unwearied  rays; 
Mistook  a  mortal  for  an  angel-guest, 
And  ask'd  what  seraph  foot  the  earth  impress'd. 
Onward  he  moves!   Disease  and  Death  retire; 
And  murmuring  demons  hate  him,  and  admire  ! 

In  the  decline  of  life,  Mr.  Stockton  was  not  so  prosperous 
in  business  as  he  had  before  been,  and  his  means  to  do  good 
were  lessened ;  but  he  did  not  grow  selfish,  but  felt  the  dis 
tresses  of  others  as  keenly  as  ever  ;  and  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  in  his  immediate  circle  his  influence  v/as  still  undi- 
minished.  He  had  been  deeply  engaged  in  the  Havana 
trade,  and  particularly  in  furnishing  the  government  their 
small-armed  vessels.  When  the  disturbances  began  in 
South  America,  his  regular  remittances  failed,  and  he 
thought  it  necessary  for  him  to  make  a  voyage  there.  The 
government  at  home  had  charged  the  viceroys  and  govern 
ors  of  the  South  American  Provinces  to  pay  these  demands 
as  they  had  regularly  done;  but  at  times  when  the  patriots, 
as  they  were  called,  had  the  ascendency,  they  refused  to 
acknowledge  any  liability,  although  they  had  possession  of 
the  property.  In  pursuing  these  claims  with  energy  and 
dignity,  he  was  thrown  into  prison — a  foul  and  pestilential 
place,  where  his  health  suffered  greatly.  By  che  interfer 
ence  of  the  merchants,  he  was  at  length  liberated,  and  re 
turned  to  the  United  States,  with  a  broken  constitution,  and 
poor  in  purse.  If  it  could  be  said  that  he  never  came  to  want, 
he  was  crippled  in  his  means  in  his  old  age.  He  had  always 


•208  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

lived  prudently  and  abstemiously,  and  therefore  felt  no  depri- 
vation  of  luxuries.  He  had  no  carriage  to  lay  down — no 
train  of  pampered  servants  to  dismiss.  He  lived  a  few 
years,  and  then  sunk  to  rest  with  the  respect  of  all  classes 
of  people.  His  activity  had  diminished,  and  of  course  his 
loss  was  not  so  much  felt  as  it  would  have  been  at  one  cer 
tain  period  of  his  life. 

Ichabod  Gardiner,  whose  advertisement  we  mentioned  as 
rinding  in  the  same  newspaper,  announcing  his  supply  of 
apples,  chesnuts,  and  mouse-traps,  resided  in  the  same  town, 
and  outlived  Stockton  several  years.  His  history  is  indeed 
a  contrast  to  that  of  Stockton.  In  this  little  shop  in  Dove 
Lane,  he  accumulated  money  rapidly.  Soon  after  he 
opened  his  huckster's  shop,  he  waited  on  Mr.  Stockton  to 
purchase  goods  such  as  he  wanted  for  the  season.  The 
merchant  had  passed  the  bottom  of  Dove  Lane  early  in  the 
morning,  and  always  found  Gardiner  at  work,  strapping 
skates  or  sorting  his  fruit,  and  believing  that  such  industry 
augured  thrift,  had  no  hesitation  in  giving  him  credit.  At 
times,  Gardiner  sent  an  adventure  in  Stockton's  vessels,  and 
little  was  said  about  freight ;  and  this  might  have  continued 
perhaps  for  a  long  time,  if  Gardiner  had  not  made  an 
attempt  to  smuggle  into  the  port  the  proceeds  of  his  adven 
ture,  which  come  near  losing  the  vessel  and  cargo.  Mr. 
Stockton  dismissed  from  his  employment  all  who  were  con 
cerned  in  the  act,  and  prohibited  any  one  sending  an  adven 
ture  in  his  vessels.  He  never  said  a  word  to  Gardiner 
about  the  affair,  and  gave  him  credit  as  before  ;  for  although 
he  would  not  run  goods  on  any  consideration,  yet  he  knew 
that  many  men  called  honest  had  no  such  scruples. 

This  gentle  rebuke  was  not  forgotten  by  Ichabod  Gar 
diner.  He  at  once  cherished  a  deadly  hatred  against  his 
patron,  but  was  too  shrewd  to  show  it  any  way  while  it  was 


AND    THE    M1SEH.  209 

for  his  interest  to  hide  his  rancour.  During  the  revolution 
ary  war,  Ichabod  owned  a  part  of  a  small  privateer  which 
cruised  near  the  mouth  of  the  Saint  Lawrence.  He  was  on 
board  of  her  in  one  of  her  expeditions,  and  was  taken  by 
the  British.  Great  complaints  had  been  made  to  the  Ad- 
miral  on  that  station  of  the  cruelty  and  outrages  committed 
by  this  privateer,  along  the  coast  of  Nova  Scotia.  The 
vessel  and  crew  were  identified,  and  their  villany  established 
beyond  a  doubt.  They  were  thrown  into  Halifax  jail,  and 
the  agent  for  prisoners  had  orders  not  to  exchange  them  on 
any  account  ;  and  when  their  friends  heard  from  them,  their 
situation  was  deplorable.  The  weeping  friends  of  this 
privateer's  men  waited  in  a  body  on  Mr.  Stockton,  and  im 
plored  him  to  take  measures  to  relieve  the  unfortunate  pri 
soners.  His  own  ship  had  been  successful,  and  had 
brought  in  many  prisoners,  who  had  been  kindly  treated. 
He  had  never  taken  a  cent  of  private  property  belonging 
to  the  prisoners,  but  had  seen  that  all  were  well  clothed  and 
well  fed.  His  reputation  for  benevolence  was  known  to  the 
British  navy.  He  had  purchased  not  lo.ig  before  an 
old  vessel,  and  sent  off  a  number  of  prisoners,  at  his  own 
expense,  for  Halifax.  At  the  solicitation  of  his  townsmen, 
he  stepped  on  board  of  a  cartel,  and  with  a  large  number  of 
persvins  sailed  for  Halifax.  The  Admiral  received  him 
with  great  kindness,  and  agreed  to  an  exchange  of  prison 
ers,  excepting  this  crew.  Mr.  Stockton  told  the  Admiral 
that  it  was  for  this  crew  he  came  in  person.  The  Admiral 
at  length  agreed  to  give  up  all  but  Ichabod  Gardiner  ;  but 
as  for  permitting  him  to  go,  he  could  not,  as  he  had  such 
proofs  of  his  flagrant  enormities,  that  he  would  bring  him 
to  trial,  and  hang  him  if  he  could.  Mr.  Stockton  was  still 
for  a  few  days.  During  the  time  every  prisoner  exchanged 
filled  the  Admiral's  ear  with  praises  of  Mr  Stockton's  bene. 


210  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

volence.  To  one  he  had  given  money  ;  another  was  sick, 
and  was  carried  to  his  house  and  nursed  as  a  child,  until  re 
covered.  Hearing  all  these  things,  the  Admiral  sent  for 
Mr.  Stockton,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  said  to  him,  "  Take 
Ichabod  Gardiner,  I  would  release  the  man  who  attempted 
to  stab  me  for  your  sake  ;  but  mind  me,  merchant,  that  fel 
low  will  be  your  bitter  enemy  through  life.  O  Jupiter  ! 
how  I  want  to  hang  him  !v  He  has  robbed  the  infant  in 
the  cradle,  of  the  chain  put  round  his  neck  by  his  godfather, 
and  stripped  the  priest  at  the  altar  of  the  cr»*cifix  he  was 
putting  to  his  lips  ;  and  that  is  not  half  that  can  be  proved 
against  him,  in  the  small  settlements  that  he  has  visited. 
Have,  my  friend,  your  eye  upon  him.  On  their  return,  it 
was  found  that  most  of  the  prizes  that  Gardiner's  privateer 
had  taken,  had  arrived  in  safety,  and  were  valuable.  He 
soon  made  arrangements  to  purchase  up  the  shares  of  the 
sailors  who  could  not  wait  for  the  adjudication  of  the  prize 
goods.  He  got  them  at  about  fifty  per  cent  on  their  real 
value  ;  and  at  the  sale  after  condemnation,  he  made  a  shift  to 
purchase  the  part  held  by  the  government.  The  goods  rose 
in  value  on  his  hands,  and  he  became  a  man  of  wealth  from 
this  single  operation. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  Ichabod  Gardiner  left  his  shop  in 
Dove  Lane,  and  commenced  merchant  in  an  eligible  situation, 
and  soon  had  vessels  in  the  West  Indies  and  European  trade, 
and  did  an  extensive  business.  Whispers  of  his  situation 
at  Halifax  were  current,  but  Stockton  never  let  fall  a  single 
word.  Gardiner  became  ambitious  of  public  life,  and  pre 
vailed  on  his  friends  to  make  an  attempt  to  send  him  to  the 
legislature.  It  was  sufficient  to  defeat  the  election,  when  it 
was  known  that  Mr.  Stockton  thought  that  the  town  fur 
nished  better  men  for  the  office.  From  this  hour  Gardiner  no 
longer  concealed  his  enmity  to  Mr.  Stockton,  but  shewed 


AND    THE    MISER.  211 

it  in  every  place  he  could.  The  good  man  was  not  dis 
turbed  nor  provoked  to  make  any  disclosures.  Gardiner's 
workmen  attached  every  epithet  of  contempt  to  his  name. 
Ten  thousand  anecdotes  of  his  meanness,  deception,  and 
beastly  passions  were  current  among  them  who  labored 
for  him,  The  little  children  in  the  street  were  in  the  habit 
of  crying  out  as  he  passed  in  the  street,  "  There  goes  old  Gri- 
pus,  who  cheated  his  men."  Once  in  a  while,  he  met  with 
some  sad  lessons  of  rebuke.  The  sailors  in  his  vessel 
would  complain  of  the  badness  and  scantiness  of  provisions, 
and  drag  him  before  the  public  tribunal  ;  and  several  times 
he  has  been  fined  for  not  finding  a  medicine  chest,  according 
to  law,  for  his  vessels.  He  was  more  than  once  disgraced 
by  receiving  a  drubbing  from  sailors,  whose  wives  he 
had  insulted  while  they  were  absent.  One  time  he  was 
fairly  caught.  An  old  revolutionary  officer  had  lost  his 
cow,  in  a  good  measure  the  support  of  his  family,  and  his 
friends  got  up  a  subscription  paper  to  purchase  him  another, 
and  the  food  of  the  animal,  for  the  season.  The  subscrip 
tion  paper  was  in  the  first  place  offered  to  Ichabod  Gar 
diner,  who  professed  to  be  quite  friendly  to  his  neighbor, 
the  veteran,  as  he  said  that  he  served  under  him  in  a  cam- 
paign.  He  seemed  to  make  no  decided  objection  to  putting 
down  his  name  for  three  dollars,  the  maximum  of  each  indi 
vidual  subscription.  The  subscription  paper  was  soon  filled 
up,  and  a  valuable  cow  purchased  on  the  strength  of  it,  and 
the  little  barn  in  which  she  was  kept  filled  with  hay  and 
provender.  The  collection  commenced,  and  all  paid  with 
alacrity,  until  it  was  requested  of  fchabod  :  he  said  that  there 
had  been  enough  paid  without  his  subscription — that  he  did 
not  intend  to  make  old  Captain  F.  rich  ;  and  lastly,  that  by 
the  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court,  he  was  not  legally  bound 
to  pay — and  would  not.  All  this  was  contemplated  by  the 


'212  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

young  lawyer  who  drew  the   paper,  and  he  had  made  it 
safe  on  all  sides.     The  subscription  was  not  a  nudum  pac- 
tum,  for  there  was  a  stipulation  that  the  veteran  should  give 
an  acconn:  of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  for  the  newspaper, 
as  a  consideration  to  bind  the  individuals  to  the  payment  of 
the  sums  set   against   their  names  ;  and   this  account  was 
printed   in  the  newspaper  before  any  collection  took  place. 
This  Ichabod  had  overlooked.    An  action  was  brought  before 
a  justice  for  the  three  dollars:  it  was  defended  by  Ichabod 
himself,  for  no   lawyer  felt  disposed  to  defend  him.     The 
justice  gave  judgment   for  the  plaintiff,  and  the  defendant 
appealed  to  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  :  the  day  it  was  set 
down  for  trial,  the  court  house  was  crowded.      The  lawyer 
who  had  written  the  subscription  paper  argued  the  cause  for 
the  original  plaintiff.    In  the  course  of  a  long  and  severe  argu 
ment,    he  gave  the  life  and  character  of  Ichabod  Gardiner, 
Esq.  :  among  other   matters  and  charges,  he  detailed  tho 
whole  story  of  the  Halifax  business,  with  numerous  other 
minute  details,  that  not  only  went  to  his  avarice,  but  to  his 
chastity,  veracity,  and  honesty,  in  almost  every  respect.     It 
was  a  speech  weighed    and  balanced  with  care.     The  jury 
brought  in  a  verdict  for  the  veteran,   without  leaving  their 
seats.     The  populace  made  the  welkin  ring  with  shouts,  in- 
doors  and  out.     The  counsel  gave  his  speech  to  the  news 
papers  that  very  day.     Ichabod   was  forced  by  his  friends 
to  bring  an  action  against  the  counsel  for  the  veteran  for  a 
libel,  which  was  just  what  he  wished.     When  this  came  on 
for  trial,  the  public  was  still  more  excited.      The  defendant 
pleaded   a  justification,    and  offered  the   truth  in   evidence. 
The  Halifax  charge  was  the  first  to  be  met  :   two  or  thjee 
of  the  crew  of  the  privateer  were  offered  as  witnesses,  and 
sworn.     They  were  full,  explicit,  and  exact  in  the  detail  of 
that  infamous  cruise.     When  they  stepped  down,  a  vener- 


AND    THE    MISER.  213 

able  form  was  seen  making  his  way  through  the  crowd :  it 
was  father  O'Riley  the  Catholic  Priest — he  had  been  robbed 
and  ill-treated-  He  took  the  stand  and  was  grievously 
affected  in  telling  his  story  of  being  robbed  and  cheated  by 
Ichabod  so  many  years  before.  The  counsel  took  the 
crucifix  from  his  green  bag,  and  asked  the  priest  if  he  knew 
that  article.  He  looked  a  moment,  and  replied, "  I  do.  It  is 
the  one  that  was  stolen  from  me  at  Nova  Scotia,  by  that 
image  of  a  man  who  sits  there."  The  counsel  of  Ichabod 
found  the  current  setting  hard  against  his  client,  and  he  was 
in  hopes  by  a  bold  dash  to  give  a  new  turn  to  the  exami 
nation:  "  Well,  reverend  father,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think 
that  this  piece  of  silver  is  the  Saviour  himself."  O  no, "  said 
the  meek  old  man.  "  I  only  considered  it  as  a  remembrance,  of 
him  who  shed  his  blood  for  me  ;  as  the  presence  of  him  who 
robbed  me  of  it,  does  of  Judas  Iscariot,  who  for  thirty  pieces 
of  silver  betrayed  him."  The  plaintiff  wished  to  become 
non-suit,  but  the  defendant  alledging  that  his  character  was 
in  question,  said  he  should  insist  on  a  verdict,  and  the  court 
said  that  he  had  a  right  to  one.  It  was  given,  and  the 
plaintiff  mulcted  in  costs.  The  crucifix  had  been  sold  to  a 
silver-smith  by  Ichabod,  and  been  kept  for  its  rare  work 
manship.  The  triumph  was  complete.  The  master  of  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars  could  not  walk  the  street  without 
being  hooted  at,  and  some  times  pelted  by  the  school-boys. 
But  Ichabod,  as  he  grew  older,  grew  never  the  better. 
Another  instance  of  his  meanness  and  rascality  soon  after 
wards  happened.  His  former  partner  in  business  had  been 
separated  from  him  some  years,  and  during  the  time  had  in 
a  measure  failed  ;  but  his  family  was  highly  respected,  and 
his  youngest  daughter  had  made  a  good  match.  On  her 
marriage-day,  Ichabod  had  a  writ  made  on  what  he  de 
clared  was  a  balance  due  him  from  the  old  man,  and  sent  an 

S 


214  THE    PHILANTHROPIST 

officer  into  the  house  of  his  former  partner  to  attach  his 
furniture,  to  mortify  the  family,  as  his  had  not  been  invited 
to  the  wedding.  The  officer  was  a  man  of  feeling,  and  dis 
charged  his  duty  in  such  a  manner  as  to  save  all  the  mor 
tification  intended.  The  lawyer  who  had  been  in  open 
warfare  with  Ichabod,  was  at  the  wedding ;  and  learning, 
under  the  rose,  the  whole  circumstances,  sat  down  with  Icha- 
bod's  former  partner,  after  his  daughter  had  gone,  and  exa 
mined  their  books  from  the  commencement  of  their  business, 
until  that  day,  and  satisfactorily  ascertained  that  Ichabod 
owed  his  partner  nearly  thirty  thousand  dollars,  as  his  partner 
had  always  contended.  A  writ  was  made,  and  the  tables 
turned  on  the  cheat.  He  had  to  get  a  receipt  for  his  own 
furniture,  in  the  hands  of  the  officer.  The  whole  matter 
was  thoroughly  sifted,  and  the  sum  of  twenty  eight  thousand 
dollars,  was  awarded  against  Ichabod  Gardiner,  which  was 
in  the  end,  payed  to  the  great  delight  of  the  public. 

Ichabod  still  prospered.  He  bought  all  the  real  estate 
that  had  once  belonged  to  Mr  Stockton,  and  paraded  about 
the  domains,  as  the  jack-ass,  around  the  body  of  the  dead 
lion,  now  and  then,  in  obedience  to  the  laws  of  his  nature, 
giving  a  kick  at  the  memory  of  his  noble  predecessor. 
Ichabod  lived  to  a  great  old  age,  and  every  month  saw  an 
argosy  arrive  from  India,  and  his  wealth  increase  ;  but  he 
never  could  gain  the  respect  of  the  wise,  and  certainly  not 
of  the  pious  or  the  poor. 

At  the  time  I  read  the  advertisement,  and  made  the  fore 
going  memorandum,  Ichabod  himself  had  gone  to  the  grave, 
in  a  good  old  age,  in  quiet  and  confidence.  The  next  day 
after  these  reflections,  as  my  custom  is,  I  made  a  visit  to  the 
church-yard,  and  there  on  a  humble  plain  stone,  I  saw  writ 
ten,  "  Here  repose  the  ashes  of  William  Stockton  ;"  his  age 
&c.  near  by,  there  was  to  be  seen  a  splendid  monument  of 


THE    PHILANTHROPIST  215 

the  finestmarble,  erected  "  to  the  memory  of  Ichabod  Gar- 
diner,  Esquire, — an  enterprising  merchant,  who  left  several 
legacies  to  the  poor — He  will  be  long  remembered."  In 
bitter  scorn  and  contempt  even  of  the  dead,  such  as  he. 
1  made  a  calculation  of  the  amount  of  his  legacies  ;  for  I 
knew  all  he  had  done.  The  whole  of  them  did  not  amount 
to  the  sum  Stockton  paid  for  the  ransom  of  the  wretch,  when 
he  was  in  Halifax  jail.  In  anguish  and  bitterness,  calling 
to  mind  one  of  George  Crabb's  poetical  tales,  I  wrote  on 
the  marble  with  my  pencil — the  first  time  I  ever  profaned  a 
monument  to  the  dead, 

"  In  Monday  Place,  Sir  Richard  Monday  died." 
I  began,  in  this  disturbed  state,  to  call  in  question  the 
course  of  Eternal  Justice,  and  to  think  the  wicked  were  in 
general  more  prosperous  than  the  righteous.  I  had,  with 
the  vigorous,  arm  of  youthful  indignation,  dealt  out  to  him  a 
richly  deserved  measure  of  personal  chastisement,  for  an 
insult  offered  to  a  female  friend,  the  daughter  of  Stockton, 
and  I  could  have  scattered  his  ashes  to  the  winds,  if  I  could 
have  reached  them.  I  had  to  recover  from  this  paroxysm 
of  infidelity  and  rage  ;  and  turning  to  the  simple  slab  that 
marked  the  resting-place  of  Stockton,  as  the  last  rays  of  a 
setting  sun  was  resting  upon  it,  and  found  a  hale  of  light 
all  around  ;  from  which  issued  a  voice,  that  said ,'  or  seemed 
to  say,  "  What  proud  creature  of  the  dust  is  this,  whn  dares 
for  a  moment  to  doubt  the  doctrines  of  a  righteous  retribu 
tion,  and  a  life  to  come  !  Is  there  not  a  perfect  harmony 
in  the  heavens  over  your  head  ?  Do  not  the  seasons  perform 
their  chnnges,  and  the  sun  rise  and  set,  by  the  same  laws 
that  it  did  before  man's  crimes  began  1  Who  knows  ivhat 
blessings  heaven  has  in  store  for  the  good,  and  what 
punishment  for  the  wicked  ?"  "  Vengeance  is  mine  saith  the 
Lord."  Human  life  is  but  a  spark  thatjlieth  upwards;  but 


216  AND    THE    MISER. 

the  soul  of  man,  emanating  from  the  source  of  life,  is  eternal. 
In  the  changes  the  soul  may  pass  in  its  journeying  through 
eternity,  will  there  not  be  opportunities  of  balancing  the 
scales  by  the  exactitude  of  WISDOM  and  GOODNESS  ?"  / 
placed  my  hand  on  my  lips,  and  bowed  my  head  to  the  dust, 
and  communed  with  my  heart :  "  Shall  he  that  contendeth 
with  the  Almighty  instruct  him  1  he  that  reproacheth  God,  let 
him  answer  it"  I  arose  with  a  belief  that  I  should  under 
stand  this  mystery  hereafter. 


FINIS. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


B  8   1937 


MAR  3  . 


JZ8- 


LD  21-100m- 


919114 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


